


Periastron

by cornelius



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Consequences, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Romance, Everybody Hurts, Feelings, Fix-It, Future Fic, Gen, Locked Room Mystery, M/M, Season 8 compliant, Space Flight, Traveling Through Space, allura is alive, but first dealing with how it was broken, even the epilogue, everyone has to deal with their decisions, no infidelity, some fudging with the timeline of the events of the epilogue, talking about feelings, they/them pronouns for Pidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 79,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornelius/pseuds/cornelius
Summary: Seven years after Voltron’s departure, the fledgling Galactic Coalition works to forge new alliances with far off planets and and build up a galaxy-wide infrastructure of teludavs with permanently open wormholes. When one tenuous new alliance is threatened by Galran Separatists, the Coalition sends its flagship, the IGF-Atlas, on a diplomatic mission to the planet Joraq.Keith has had his fair share of risky assignments during his time as a Blade of Marmora spy and undercover agent. But when he’s sent to Atlas to aid in a diplomatic mission, Keith has to face the people he left behind and the feelings he ran away from. Returning back to Atlas means facing the consequences of old decisions as he’s thrown back into the orbit of the one man he thought he’d never see again.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 268
Kudos: 269





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is completely written and will be posted chapter by chapter on Mondays and Thursdays.

“Acxa, I think they’re on to me,” Keith said discreetly into his comms. He walked briskly through the Delta Station festival crowd, fast enough to put some distance between himself and the three Galran men who pursued him but slow enough to not draw unwanted attention. Despite swapping his stolen uniform for the long, colorful robes worn by festival-goers, his pursuers stayed on his trail, probably following the long dark braid Keith hadn’t had time to conceal. 

Keith’s eyes scanned the heads of the crowd, trying to find Acxa’s familiar blue hair, but she wasn’t easy to spot in a sea of deep blue robes. 

_Fuck_ , Keith thought. He put a hand over his breast pocket under his robes, feeling the small drive still tucked away in it. If the men following him found the drive on Keith ... well, it was better not to think about that. Better to focus on finding Acxa.

He slipped into the portion of the main concourse set aside for vendors, hoping that he could get lost in the aisles of colorful tents. As he walked by a hat vendor, he discreetly pulled a long hood with ear flaps from a shelf and tugged down over his head between two booths. It might not completely deter the men following him, but it might slow them down or confuse them enough for Keith to find Acxa.

A crackle of static came over Keith’s comms and Keith ducked behind a booth. “Where are you?” 

_Speak of the devil_.

“I’m in the vendor area”—Keith peered around one tent, trying see the name of the candle seller he was hiding behind—“by Xeern’s Candles.”

“Is that the one with the candles that look like Geans?”

Keith looked at the candles. They looked short and bulbous—like a bunch of grapes? But he also had no idea what a Gean looked like. “Uhh ... like a bunch of round things stuck together?”

“That’s it,” she said, “On my way.”

Keith risked another look out from his hiding spot, and caught a glimpse of the Galrans following him. Just an hour ago Mirnov, Vhynzev and Brakkax had been trying to get Keith to drink a whole bottle of kaz to celebrate their successful mission. Now, they were intent on stopping him, and likely torturing him, before throwing him out of the station’s airlock. At least they didn’t know his real name—he hoped.

Brakkax, the leader of this little arm of Galra Separatists, told the other two to fan out. The three of them didn’t care about blending in to the crowd—still in their dull grey uniforms, they roughly pushed through groups of people and barked at vendors. And Vhynzev was closing in on Keith.

Keith sneaked as far back behind the tent as he could while still maintaining a line of sight on his pursuers. He took one more step back and then a hand wrapped around his bicep. He whipped around, already swinging his blade, but stopped it just shy of taking off Acxa’s head.

She put a finger to her lips as Keith resheathed his blade before pushing past Keith to look out from their hiding spot. She was dressed much like Keith, in the long, voluminous robes worn for the biannual resupplying festival, but there was something about the way she carried herself that made it clear she didn’t fit in. This is why Acxa didn’t do undercover. 

She pulled on her own long cap before giving Keith a signal. They both stepped out from the booth, and Keith took her hand. She inclined her head to him—from behind it would look like a fond gesture, a sweet acknowledgement of the hand holding. But Keith could see Acxa’s eyes roll and knew she was counting down to the moment she could have her hand back.

“Took you long enough,” Keith said, barely audible over the music playing though the PA system. 

She shrugged. “I had to make some arrangements at the docks when you said our meeting spot was compromised.”

Keith looked up at her and felt dizzy. Delta Station was an old station, one that used centrifugal force to generate artificial gravity. So, if Keith looked up at the right angle, he could see the rest of the station arc up and around. He shook his head to clear his vision and to try to stop the lurch in his gut.

He was looking down at the ground when, without warning, Acxa pulled Keith into an unused tent. Acxa held a hand over Keith’s mouth to stop his protests and gestured for him to look out at the concourse behind a flap of the tent. Keith saw Mirnov stop, look around like he had just missed Keith, and then push back through the crowd.

“How mad are they at you?” Acxa whispered.

“They caught me taking everything off their main computer,” Keith whispered back, palming the drive in his pocket again to reassure himself it was still there. “I don’t think we can wait them out—they’re not going to give up easily.”

Acxa swore in Galran. 

Mirnov circled back around and stood just outside their tent. Before Keith could think about what to do, Acxa shot an arm out of the tent and grabbed Mirnov, hauling him into their hiding spot. She used his bulk and momentum against him, slamming him face first to the hard metal floor. He was stunned, his eyes unfocused and his head reeling. Acxa took advantage of his confusion and tied him to the central support pole with a rope pulled from the depths of her robes.

As soon as Mirnov was secured, Acxa went back to watching the crowd outside the tent. Keith stood in the same spot he’d been in when Acxa’s started her sneak attack, too shocked to do anything else. Mirnov’s eyes finally focused, and narrowed when they found Keith.

“You are a traitor to the cause, Vres,” Mirnov said in Galran, “And we will not forget this betrayal. What are you? Coalition? Blade of Marmora?” He spat after saying _Blade of Marmora_. In the Separatists’ propaganda, the Blades were public enemy number one. It was their fault the empire built by Zarkon fell, and their fault New Daibazaal was a founding member of the Galactic Coalition. Basically, the Blades were all traitors to their race and Keith had just made things worse by actively stealing from the Separatists. 

Keith ignored Mirnov’s questions and waited for Acxa to give them the go-ahead. She held up a hand, telling Keith to wait but be ready to move quickly, before giving Keith the signal to move out. They left the tent and Mirnov behind and slipped into a stream of festival goers heading toward the exit in the temporary fence constructed for the event. They were holding hands again—and Acxa’d manifested a souvenir bag from who knows where—looking entirely like a couple who’d enjoyed a day at the festival.

That was, until a sharp tug at Keith’s braid sent him to ground. His head cracked on the metal floor and Keith saw stars. People rushed around above him, trying to get away from ... oh shit it was too hard to concentrate on the figures moving around him. Keith heard the telltale _whump_ of a punch landing, followed by a short, sharp cry from Acxa. Keith needed to help her, but getting up was so hard. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and was able to see enough to watch Acxa thrust kick Vhynzev into a nearby tent. Vhynzev, the tent, and the tiny delicate baubles inside the tent, crumpled.

Vhynzev started to push and tear and fight his way out of the ruined tent. Keith watched Vhynvez and tried to convince himself to get up, but he couldn’t make his muscles do the work. Arms wrapped under Keith’s armpits and hauled him up, and then he was shakily standing on his own feet. 

“Let’s go,” Acxa said as she tugged Keith forward. 

“I think I have a concussion,” Keith said. He wasn’t trying to resist her insistent pulling, but his legs seemed to have other ideas. 

“You probably do,” she said as she pulled them into an alley off the main concourse. Station guards rushed by them, heading back toward the festival. That’s when Keith realized that the ambient noises in his ears were no longer the festival songs piped through the PA, but the screams and sirens of a panic. So much for a clean extraction.

As soon as the guards passed, Acxa led Keith to the long term parking section of the hangar, where Keith’s ship had been sitting for three phoebs. Well, it wasn’t so much _Keith’s_ as it was assigned to Keith by the Blades. A small Galran transport ship made to fit one to two crew members, it had shielding and stealth capabilities but no weapons—basically the perfect ship for a spy. A spy like Keith. Or a spy like Acxa.

Keith opened the door to the ship and Acxa lugged him inside. She dropped him into a seat that folded down from the wall in what counted as Keith’s kitchen before making a beeline to cockpit. Keith absently wondered if Galrans used the idiom _beeline_ or if they had any concept of what a bee was. He’d ask Krolia next time he saw her.

The ship rumbled as it came alive. Keith loved that feeling—had always loved that feeling—when a ship went from just an inert hunk of metal to a living being. His fingers itched to grasp the controls, but he stayed where Acxa put him. 

“Keith,” she said, “There’s nothing on the ship’s computer about a refuel. Can you make sure we have enough fuel and water?”

Keith nodded. He was pretty sure he could do that. All he needed to do was walk over to the tank and look at it. But standing up first—that was the hard part.

Acxa sighed and told Keith to stay put for a moment. She opened one of the many small hatches for storing cargo and pulled out a semi-organized drawer. She tore through it, discarding most of its contents on the floor, before finding what she was looking for. She put a small bottle in Keith’s hands and told him to drink it. “If you have a concussion, that will speed up the healing process,” she said, “But if you don’t, you’ll just get really high. If we’re going to get out of here alive, let’s hope you have a concussion.”

Keith twisted off the cap and thought that was probably the first time anyone had wished for a concussion as he drained the bottle of its contents: a thick and gloopy liquid with notes of chalk and metal. It took all of Keith’s concentration to keep the awful stuff down. He waited thirty ticks with Acxa’s eyes on him the whole time. He’d seen this stuff work before, and it worked _fast_. 

Keith stood up. He felt his legs want to give out under him for a moment, but then they felt as steady as before his head met the floor. His head still felt like it was in a vice, and he would really like to lay down as soon as possible, but he was functional again at least. “Ok, I’ll check the tanks,” Keith said and Acxa, clearly relieved, retuned to the cockpit.

Keith left the ship and walked around to the back of it. He pulled off the hull pieces that protected the fuel and water tanks, and both looked full. The tanks looked to be in good condition—no dents or cracks—and the connections between the tank and the many hoses leading out of it were all secure. He closed up the back of the ship and latched it closed before heading to the cockpit.

He slipped into the co-pilot seat right as Acxa opened up a line of communication with the dock traffic controller. “Ship 4X7G-800H to Delta Station,” she said, “Requesting permission to depart.” 

A voice came over the ship’s comms. “Station to 4X7G. We have the cruise liner Astra scheduled ahead of you. As soon as they leave, you have permission to depart. Sending route to your computers.”

Keith flipped through a few screens on his ship’s computer and found their flight plan from the traffic controller. “4X7G-800H to Delta Station,” he said, “We have received the route. Can you give us an ETA?”

“Station to 4X7G. ETA is thirty doboshes. Sit tight and we’ll have you out of here ASAP.” Keith tapped a rhythm on the steering controls. Thirty doboshes was plenty of time for something to go wrong.

Something like Bakkax showing up at the docks with a whole squadron’s worth of heavily armed and pissed off Separatists. 

“Acxa!” Keith said as he pointed to Bakkax. 

Her head whipped to find the Separatists through the windshield and then she got up out of her seat. Keith watched her as she left the cockpit and pulled a duffel bag out of the wall. _When did she have time to put that there?_

“What are you doing?” Keith asked.

“This ship doesn’t have any weapons, right?” she asked, pulling out a long laser rifle from the duffel.

Keith blinked at the weapon. He didn’t know how she fit it in that bag, or how she’d gotten past station security. 

“Fly low, and don’t let me fall out.” 

Keith scrambled back into his seat. Bakkax and his flunkies were running toward the ship now, laser pistols raised and ready to shoot. A clang of the hatch opening told Keith it was time to go, and he pressed his hands gently to the controls. The ship barely hovered off the ground, and Keith angled it so Acxa could fire on the Separatists. 

“What are you doing, 4X7G-800H?! You can’t _fly_ your ship in long term parking!” Keith shut off communication with the traffic controller. Even if he and Acxa got out of this okay, this would probably be his last visit to Delta Station.

The first laser blasts hit the hull of Keith’s ship, and Keith fought to keep the ship from being jostled into another ship or equipment or the walls of the hangar. With the ship flying so slow in an artificial gravity environment, Keith’s control had to be _precise_. 

Acxa got a few shots off—none that actually hurt any of the Separatists, but they were enough to scramble them down to the ground. Keith angled the ship toward the fleeing Separatists and toward the hangar exit, and buzzed right over their heads. He flew out of the hangar, the top of his ship just scraping the ceiling as they flew into the docks.

“Acxa, you might want to come inside!” Keith shouted over his shoulder. They were out of the hangar, but not off the station and they didn’t have clearance to leave. Oh, and station security was headed right for them with big magnets on cables, the kind that could be shot out of a cannon to haul the ship back in.

The click of a locking hatch was followed by the squeal of the ship creating an airtight seal around the door. Acxa slipped into the seat next to Keith and fastened herself in. With Acxa back in and the door shut, Keith engaged the force shield. It would be much harder for those magnets to get ahold of the ship now. 

“Now how do we get off the station?” Acxa asked. 

Keith looked around at the docks. During the festival, most of the incoming and outgoing traffic was transport ships—small scale ferries that moved people two and from the sister stations in the sector. And those were all docked. The big cargo ships, the ones that brought the supplies the whole festival was based on, docked in a more industrial part of the station, but that meant Keith couldn’t slip out behind one of their massive hulls.

Then he spotted a cruise ship just starting its departure—the Astra. Keith pushed the controls and the ship went up. No longer worried about hitting other ships with his wings, Keith gunned it to catch up with the cruise ship. Alarms blared in the docks as a message came through the emergency channel on Keith’s ship. “Ship 4X7G-800H. Stop immediately and submit to boarding. This is your only warning. If you do not comply, we will pull you down.”

Acxa flipped a switch and the message vanished. “Oops.”

Keith grinned and pushed his ship harder. The cruise ship was already halfway out of the docks—she couldn’t be stopped now. All Keith had to do was get close enough to pass through the dock bay doors before they shut behind the cruise ship. They were at the doors and their ship was only a few feet behind the Astra, and then they were off the station. Keith darted around the large, slow moving tourist vessel and gunned it. They were out of Delta Station airspace and no one could stop them now.

Keith breathed a sigh of relief and pushed back from the controls. He looked out at the stars as the familiar sensation of weightlessness took hold. Acxa let out her own sigh and pulled up navigation on the ship’s computer. She input some coordinates and a map came up to guide them to their destination.

“Toluhmahtu VII?” Keith said, “That’s no where near a Blades base.”

Acxa _hmmed_. “We’re not going to a base. We’re taking the intel directly to the Galactic Coalition.”

“In Toluhmahtu?” Toluhmahtu was a system in a part of space Keith would call the middle of nowhere. The only reason anyone went to the system at all was because it was halfway between four different teludavs with permanent wormholes—the station near the rings of Toluhmahtu V was a great place to stop and refuel before continuing on to another teludav. The Galactic Coalition also had an outpost on Toluhmahtu station, but Keith didn’t think taking the drive to the three minor officials who ran it was all that direct.

“We’re meeting up with IGF-Atlas,” Acxa said, suspiciously casual, “We’re to take it to the Coalition Representation on board.”

 _Atlas. Of course_ they were taking it to Atlas. Keith had heard a rumor during his time with the Separatists that Atlas was up and flying again, engaged in diplomatic missions across the galaxy as the flagship of the Coalition. He’d just really hoped it wasn’t true.

Keith put his head in his hands. It was pounding, but he didn’t know how much was due to the lingering effects of the concussion and how much was ... 

The last time he’d been on Atlas was almost seven years ago just after Voltron disappeared. And he hadn’t even seen Atlas since the wedding and that was fiveyears ago. He’d thought at the time he’d never see Atlas again. At least, he’d hoped he’d never see Atlas again. Or her captain—well, her previous captain.

“It will take us a few quintants to get there,” Acxa said and Keith looked up at her with one eye through his fingers. “You might want to take that time to rest.”

Keith nodded into his hands. He unbuckled himself and floated out of his seat. He buckled himself into one of the two sleeping bags attached to the wall, and hoped their orders would change when he woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this last July as way to deal with my feelings about the end of the show, but somewhere along the way it got a Plot and went from something I thought would be about 10k to something over 70k. I wanted to write something that dealt with the choices made in s8, and dig into the consequences of those choices in the future.
> 
> This fic is s8 epilogue compliant, but I take some creative liberties with when exactly certain things in the epilogue take place. In the timeline of this fic, Voltron left seven years before the start of the story, and Shiro got married to Curtis two years later. 
> 
> I use the Voltron time measurements for “official” things or discussion of time as they travel through space (sort as the Galactic standard), but Keith and other other characters from Earth will casually use Earth time measurements. Here are the approx. correspondences (adapted from [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Voltron/comments/96mr2f/a_guide_to_voltron_time_measurements/)):
> 
> Tick = 1.399 seconds  
> Dobosh = 1.4 minutes (84 seconds); 60 ticks = 1 dobosh  
> Varga = 1.4 hours (84 minutes); 60 doboshes = 1 varga  
> Quintant = 1.167 days (28 hours); 20 vargas = 1 quintant  
> Movement = Approximately 1 week (I assume 7 quintants/movement for sake of ease but no official correspondence)  
> Phoeb = Approximately 1 month (I assume 4 movements/phoeb again for ease)  
> Decaphoeb = Approximately 1 year (I assume 10 phoebs/year because deca means 10 but there’s no official word)
> 
> As always, thanks to [messier51](http://messier51.tumblr.com) for many helpful suggestions, catching my typos, and the title. “Periastron” refers to the point at which something orbiting a star is at its closest point to said star, and it ties into the themes of this fic.
> 
> You can find me [here](http://s-cornelius.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


	2. Chapter 2

It took three quintants to rendez-vous with Atlas, and Keith slept most of the trip. Between the sleep and a second dose of gloopy chalk medicine, he felt almost like himself by the time they docked on Atlas. Maybe too much like himself. 

But once they’d landed, there wasn’t much time to think about how he felt. The ship was locked into place and registered in the system as soon as they arrived, and the moment they stepped off the ship, a small army of crew members filed in to check the wiring and run diagnostics on the computer. 

Keith sidestepped the crew members swarming his ship and leaned against the nose while Acxa found a quiet spot to report in with the Blades. Keith watched Atlas’ crew, the young and eager from every corner of the galaxy, move around the hangar. Keith kept his mask and hood up, looking every part the mysterious and anonymous Blade of Marmora operative, the black and purples of his armor a stark contrast to the white and orange uniforms of Atlas’ crew.

Keith had never minded being anonymous. If anything, he found the anonymity comforting. 

“Keith.” Acxa came around the side of the ship, side-stepping coils of thick pipes connected to the fuel and water tanks. He dropped his mask as she approached him but he felt naked without it. Who around had known him before? Who would recognize him? Who was going to start asking him very difficult questions about his whereabouts for the past five years?

“You need to take the intel to the Representative,” Acxa said, “You can find him—“

“You should take it,” Keith said, “I’ll ... stay with the ship. Make sure no one messes up the wiring.”

A Velunian with deep green hair and three eyes scoffed at Keith as xe pulled out a few wires from a panel under the ship. 

Acxa eyed Keith, clearly trying to figure out what Keith was up to. Keith wasn’t up to anything. He just didn’t want to venture any further into Atlas than he absolutely had to. 

“Kolivan has arranged for berths for us in Atlas until it’s time for us to leave. After I drop off the intel, I’ll find our sleeping quarters assignments and contact you.”

“That’s okay,” Keith said, faster than he’d meant to, “I’ll just stay on the ship. We probably will only be here for a few quintants anyway. No need to move all of my stuff.” Keith had done missions like this before for the Coalition. Acxa would drop off the intel, there would definitely be about fifteen meetings on what the intel meant for the Coalition, and then Keith and Acxa would go to their next assignments. In and out before Keith could even learn anyone’s names. 

Acxa raised an eyebrow. She plainly thought he was being weird. “Whatever. But you might at least find the laundry. Your ship reeks.”

Keith had a protest ready to go, but before he could voice it, a Taujeerian emerged from the ship with four armfuls of Keith’s clothes and bedding. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll take care of this and have it back on board in a couple of vargas.”

Keith gave Acxa a close-mouthed smile and she rolled her eyes. 

“But of course,” the Taujeerian crew member said, “You don’t have to wait at the ship for it. The Atlas is the most advanced ship ever made and it would be a shame to only see her hangar.” The Taujeerian smiled—well, Keith thought it was probably a smile. It was always hard to interpret expressions on a Taujeerian. 

“It’s fine. I’ve seen it before,” Keith said to the Taujeerian. Acxa frowned at him, and Keith knew he was too brusque with the crew member. If he was being too mean for _Acxa_ , he was probably being a real asshole. 

Acxa left Keith without another word and the Taujeerian took Keith’s laundry away sullenly and the Velunian shot daggers at him from all three of xir eyes. Keith hated how on edge he felt. He hated that it made him such a jerk. Keith wished they’d never come to Atlas.

The Taujeerian returned to the ship, but gave Keith a wide berth. Keith found him working on a small console next to Keith’s ship, looking through a work log on the computer. Keith approached him and said, “Hey can I help with anything?”

The Taujeerian startled. “Do you not have … other work to do?”

“Not really,” Keith said, “I’m just transportation.” That wasn’t a total lie. It was his ship after all that had transported them to Atlas.

“I see,” the Taujeerian said, “In that case, you might be able to help Oaji inside. Xe seems to be struggling with the wiring.”

Keith detected some sarcasm in the Taujeerian’s voice, but ignored it. He sincerely thanked the Taujeerian—who, upon closer inspection, appeared to be the supervisor for this group of crew members—and went to find Oaji.

Keith found the Velunian—or Oaji as the Taujeerian had called xir—sitting on the floor, xir datapad hardwired into a compartment under the engine. Xe looked up with one of xir three eyes as Keith walked over to xir. “What did you do to this ship?”

Keith looked down into the compartment, and was unsurprised to see that xe’d pulled apart all of his temporary fixes, the remains of strips of electrical tape littered next to the compartment.

“I’m not really good at this”—he gestured at the wiring—“kind of thing. Sorry if I made it sound like I was.”

Oaji nodded, and xir three braids bounced with the motion. “I might have to rewire your whole ship. I don’t know how you didn’t boil alive in here. You connected the temperature regulator to the wiring for the altimeter.”

Well, that explained why they’d had random temperature spikes between Delta Station and Atlas. Keith didn’t think Oaji needed to know that, though. 

Keith worked with Oaji for several vargas—pulling open panels throughout the ship, reconfiguring the wiring and removing any of Keith’s additions. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with xir and get sucked in by xir laserlike focus. He could almost pretend he wasn’t on Atlas at all.

Once the ship was mostly rewired, Oaji uploaded some simple instructions to the ship’s computer in case of future electrical issues before leaving the ship. They had been working so hard together, Keith hadn’t realized that the rest of the crew working on the ship was gone, and probably had been gone for vargas. His laundry was neatly folded and left on the pull-down table of his kitchen, and the ship had been refueled. 

Keith grabbed a canteen on his way to the newly empty cockpit. A temporary screen sat on the pilot’s seat, showing the installation of a software patch for his navigation system. He took a long drink and watched the progress bar creep infinitesimally from the left side to the right. At this rate, it would be a quintant or two before the patch was installed. He hoped it would be finished soon—he didn’t want to have to spend any extra time on Atlas waiting for the update before moving on to his next assignment.

Keith looked over the dashboard and out into the hangar. Keith’s watch—newly synced with Atlas’ onboard computer—put the ship time somewhere in the early evening. Even despite the hour, the hangar buzzed with activity as the third shift started, and small teams like the one that had seen to Keith’s ship went to work on their charges. He looked for Acxa—it was surprising that she hadn’t returned or contacted him yet. Instead, Keith found the one person he’d thought he’d never see again. 

Keith’s eyes tracked the man’s movement as he walked between and around ships with practiced ease, only occasionally pausing along his way to talk to a few crew members. The stripes on the left shoulder of his uniform clearly marked him Atlas’ captain, but Keith couldn’t believe he was here—and walking toward Keith’s ship.

He was supposed to be retired. 

Keith scrambled away from the cockpit—he could _not_ see Shiro right now. Keith closed and locked the hatch quickly, before taking his tablet with him into the room with the vacuum toilet. He locked that door too before pulling up the video surveillance feed on his screen.

The video showed the Taujeerian catching up with Shiro and guiding Shiro toward the console near the ship. There was a determined set to Shiro’s jaw, but his face wasn’t unkind. The Taujeerian pulled something up on his screen and showed it to Shiro. Shiro frowned and thanked the crew member before closing the distance between him and the ship.

Shiro stepped up to ship and Keith couldn’t look at the video anymore. Keith shut his eyes and held them tightly closed. He counted the ticks in his head, dreading what might happen next. 

Several doboshes passed and nothing happened. Keith almost convinced himself that Shiro hadn’t come to his ship when footsteps on the metal steps outside echoed through the ship, followed by two sharp raps on the hatch door. Keith closed his eyes and bit his lip, willing Shiro to just _go away_.

Shiro knocked again, and Keith looked down at his screen. There weren’t any external microphones, so it was hard to make out the muffled words passed between Shiro and the Taujeerian. But Keith did hear the heavy thunk of the hatch lock disengaging—damn hangar crew connected to Keith’s ship’s computer—and then tentative steps into the ship. 

“Hello? Keith?”

 _Oh shit_ , Keith thought, _He knows I’m here_.

Keith’s heart raced, pushing adrenaline through his arteries. The room started to spin, and Keith put his hands over his mouth. He had to be quiet. He had to be silent.

“Do you think he could have gone to the cafeteria? Or the gym?” The Taujeerian asked from outside the ship.

“Atlas said he hasn’t left his ship,” Shiro replied.

 _Atlas said? What does_ that _mean_?

“Keith?” Shiro asked again, just outside Keith’s hiding spot, “Are you here?”

Keith didn’t move—he didn’t even _breathe._ He could almost _feel_ Shiro just on the other side of the door. All Shiro had to do was open the door, and then Keith would be face to face with him for the first time in five years. 

That was the last thing Keith wanted. 

Shiro didn’t move from his position. He waited, probably listening as hard as Keith was, for Keith to give him some sign that Keith was there. Keith could outlast him, he could ignore his foot falling asleep, he could ignore—

_Squeak._

Keith shifted his foot and the rubber of his boot rubbed on the metal of the toilet. It lasted less than half a second, but it was loud enough to echo in the tiny room. Loud enough for Shiro to hear.

 _Fuck_. 

Shiro took a few steps closer, and a soft rasp of metal on metal told Keith that his hand on the door. _His hand was on the door_.

“Captain!” the Taujeerian called, “You’re needed on the bridge!”

Shiro replied to the Taujeerian, “Let them know that I’m on my way.”

But Shiro didn’t move. Keith didn’t hear the sounds of his boots turning and walking away. Was he going to hold up the whole ship waiting for Keith? How long would he wait?

After a few long seconds, Keith finally heard Shiro’s voice again, this time pitched low enough for only Keith to hear. “Okay, I get it. I’ll go.”

Footsteps moved away from Keith’s hiding place and Keith let himself relax. He unclenched his fingers from around the tablet and shook them out. He looked down at the screen again and waited until he couldn’t see Shiro anymore on the exterior cameras to emerge from his hiding spot.

He dropped the tablet on top of his fresh laundry and stretched out his muscles, still tight from holding himself still in the toilet. He couldn’t believe Shiro had come looking for him. Shiro shouldn’t even _be_ on Atlas. He should be on Earth. He should be with ... 

The hatch door opened again and Keith bolted back toward the vacuum toilet. He was halfway in the room when Acxa called out his name.

“What are you doing, Keith?” she asked. 

“Nothing.” Keith pulled himself out of the room with as much dignity as possible. “What are you doing?”

“Telling you you can’t hide on your ship anymore,” she said with a note of finality in her voice that brooked no argument, “We both have new assignments, and the first thing you have to do is meet with the Coalition Representative.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Keith followed Acxa from the hangar towards the front of the ship, struggling to keep up with her long strides and quick pace.

“We’re going to be on Atlas for the foreseeable future,” Acxa said over her shoulder, “So you’re not going to stay on your ship. I’ll have your things moved to your berth.”

“Wait! You can’t—“

Acxa ignored Keith’s protest and handed a Blade-issued, book sized tablet to Keith. “Kolivan sent you details on your new assignment. You can read about them on there.”

“Why do they want us on Atlas?”

They stopped in front of a door and Acxa shrugged. “Read your brief and find out.”

Keith looked down at the tablet, its dark mirror surface showing Acxa’s face (bored, indifferent) and Keith’s worried expression. Keith wondered how mad Kolivan would be at him if he just took off. It wouldn’t be hard—he just had to convince someone in the docks that he had permission to leave. 

Acxa put a hand over Keith’s and Keith realized how tightly he’d been gripping the tablet. He relaxed his fingers and put the tablet in a pocket on his utility belt. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” she said, “But running away isn’t the answer. Trust me, Keith.”

“I’m not—“ Keith started, but stopped as soon as he saw the openness of Acxa’s expression, a genuine vulnerability. Acxa so rarely shared any part of herself—it was enough to squash Keith’s objections. 

“I know you were thinking about it. You had that look in your eye like you were trying to figure out the best escape route.”

Keith looked down at the floor. She knew him too well. 

Acxa opened the door, and a familiar conference room waited for Keith on the other side. It was empty of people, but filled with memories of an old life Keith had almost forgotten he’d had. “You have some time before the meeting is set to start. Read over your materials and find me later,” Acxa said.

Keith nodded and Acxa left. Acxa paused at the corner and glanced at Keith out of the corner of her eye, like she still wasn’t sure if Keith was going to take off as soon as she was gone. Keith gave her a little wave, and then had nothing to do but walk into the conference room.

The room was unchanged since the last time Keith was on Atlas—it still had the same long table, the same uncomfortable rolling chairs, and the same large, curved orange screens on either end. In fact, it was so much the same that Keith half-expected to look down at his chest and see blocks of red and white on his uniform. He found the place he’d always sat as the Black Paladin, and purposefully chose the seat furthest away from that spot, picking a chair toward the back of the room. Keith wasn’t the Black Paladin and he wasn’t the leader of Voltron anymore. He was just some Blade of Marmora spy, one of many anonymous operatives—not important to anyone.

Keith sat down and leafed through the information on his tablet. He found an encrypted brief from Kolivan and opened it. The message was short, which wasn’t surprising given it was from Kolivan, but he was surprised by his new assignment.

_Brief Atlas crew on Separatists and insights gained from undercover mission_ , the message read _, Stay on Atlas for the duration of its diplomatic mission as GC Rep’s bodyguard._

“Bodyguard?” Keith asked out loud to the empty room. Why would anyone want _Keith_ to be a bodyguard? As far as Keith could tell, he was the physically the smallest of the Blades, and the only thing intimidating about him was his Marmoran blade. 

Kolivan had attached a number of documents—pages and pages of info on where Atlas was headed, background on the diplomatic mission, and a personnel file for the Galactic Representative. But he didn’t pay too close attention to any of it. He wanted to know _why_ Kolivan had given him this assignment, but that was the documentation that eluded him. Kolivan could’ve picked _any_ Blade—he could’ve picked _Acxa_ for fuck’s sake—and for some reason he picked Keith. 

Keith put down the tablet. He could read and reread the materials in front of him but he didn’t think any of it would stick. Not as long as he tried to figure out what Kolivan had been thinking. Keith tugged at his braid as he thought, pulling it apart and rebraiding it twice on autopilot. It was a habit Krolia had been desperately trying to break. Apparently it was quite unseemly in polite Galran society to unbraid one’s hair. 

He almost started to pull it apart for a third time when the door opposite from the one he’d entered through opened with a soft _whoosh_.

Keith thought he was hallucinating when he saw who walked in first. It was … _Hunk_? The man looked like Hunk, but also so different from the teenager Keith remembered. Hunk had always been big, but he was somehow bigger—or maybe he just felt bigger because his presence could easily take up a whole room. And he was definitely ... well, the muscles of his chest and arms filled out his Galactic Coalition sweater in a way that was quite appealing. The biggest change, though, was his hair, shaved on the sides and long on top, pulled into a looped ponytail on the crown of his head. 

But his smile—that was still one hundred percent Hunk.

“Keith!” Hunk shouted and pulled Keith out of his chair, wrapping him up in a hug, “It’s been too long, man. I’ve missed you.”

Keith slowly brought his arms up to hug Hunk back, and was surprised to find that he was smiling too. Hunk pulled Keith out of the hug and put him at arm’s length. “Are you taller?” Hunk put a hand on top of his head and moved it across the space to Keith’s head. It thunked into Keith’s forehead.

“You are taller. How are you taller?”

Keith shrugged. “Galra stuff? That’s my best guess.”

Hunk laughed and hugged Keith again. It was nice to be hugged, and Keith hadn’t been hugged in a long time.

“So,” Keith said after pulling himself away, “Galactic Coalition Representative?”

Hunk’s smile turned into a shy grin. “It’s new. I had been working informally with the Coalition, and when Representative Marjoram retired, they offered me the job.”

“It suits you,” Keith said, “I can’t think of anyone better suited for this job if I’m honest.”

“And I can’t think of anyone better suited to be my bodyguard. Especially when you get that serious, frowny look. No one’s gonna mess with me while you’re scowling over my shoulder.”

“I’m not frowny,” Keith protested, “I’m just …”

“I think frowny isn’t too far from the truth.”

Keith froze at the sound of Shiro’s voice. Talking to Hunk, Keith had missed Shiro and half of the commanding officers filing in behind them. He was already failing at being a bodyguard.

Keith looked up, and for the first time in half a decade, met Shiro’s eyes. Someone— Acxa maybe, or Krolia or Kolivan—had set him up and now he was trapped. Shiro was the first to break eye contact, turning to address the gathered officers behind him.

“Why doesn’t everyone sit down, and we can start talking about our next diplomatic mission,” Shiro moved to the head of the room with practiced ease and started setting up his presentation. 

Keith fell into his chair, too stunned to really take in anyone else in the room. Hunk sat down next to him, and Keith’s earlier nostalgia returned. He felt like he was seeing double, this Hunk superimposed over the Hunk of his memories, sitting next to him in this same conference room.

When the lights dimmed, he wondered if he could get out of the room in the dark without anyone noticing and if Kolivan would assign him to a frozen asteroid for a decaphoeb for doing so..

“Ok, thank you all for joining me this evening—“ Shiro said, cutting off Keith’s train of thought. He introduced the various officers gathered in the conference room, all senior officers and heads of the various departments of the ship. After mentioning each of Atlas’ officers and titles—none of which Keith bothered to remember—Shiro turned toward Hunk.

“This is Representative Hunk from Earth, a former Paladin of Voltron. He’s taking over for Representative Marjoram, and this will be his first diplomatic endeavor.” Shiro nodded to Hunk and Hunk smiled back at Shiro. “He is joined by his bodyguard, Keith, a Blade of Marmora and also former Paladin of Voltron. This is also his first mission, so we need to make sure to catch them both up to speed quickly.”

Shiro’s attention then went to his presentation. He spoke about their diplomatic mission with practiced ease, a rigid authority in his voice. Everyone’s attention was drawn to him, and not just because he was in charge of the meeting. Shiro had always been like that—magnetic—and Keith was no stranger to his pull. 

Shiro was as solid as Keith remembered him to be. From his square jaw to his broad shoulders to his endless confidence, he looked like he was born to be in charge. Of course, very few knew that Shiro’s outer strength and dependability had come from years of hiding just how fragile his body was. He’d spent years proving to the world that he was a capable pilot despite a degenerative muscular disease. But even after years of being cured—or, of having a body that never had Shiro’s disease—Shiro still looked so … sturdy. Sturdy and healthy and young, like the last five years hadn’t touched him. The skin of his face was smooth and unlined (unlike the crease starting to form between Keith’s brows), and his white hair, rather than age him, made him look boyish and soft. Keith imagined how velvety soft the short hairs at Shiro’s nape would feel ...

“Keith?” 

Keith started at the sound of his name. Shiro looked at him, concern written on his face, and Keith’s face burned under Shiro’s scrutiny. 

“What?” Keith asked, “I mean—could you repeat the question?”

Shiro paused, patient, before speaking again. “Could you please bring us up to speed regarding your time undercover?” he said, measured and calm, as if he were asking for the first time. 

“Yes,” Keith said and sat up a little straighter in his chair, “The Blades have been monitoring a growing organization of Galra Separatists. They’re fairly decentralized, with pockets acting semi-autonomously to undermine the Galactic Coalition and the Blades of Marmora. I, along with four other operatives, were positioned undercover in a few of the larger pockets on an intel gathering mission. During my time undercover, I was able to copy everything they had off their main computer, including locations of cells we didn’t know about, bank account information, and info on some of their supply chains.”

“The only problem is that Keith got caught extracting the information,” Acxa said from behind Keith. Keith whipped around in his chair to face her. When had she snuck back in?

“So, we don’t know for how much longer any of the intel will be useful,” she continued, “But Kolivan has already tasked the Blades with acting on what information Keith was able to collect.”

“I also sent on the intel to the Coalition,” Hunk added. Acxa had clearly been busy while Keith was hiding out on his ship. “Support teams from the Coalition have been dispatched to aid the Blades.”

“What are the goals of the Separatists?” asked an Arusian from the other end of the table. A patch on the sleeve of her uniform marked her as head of logistics.

“The dissolution of the Coalition,” Keith said, “in the simplest terms. They don’t support New Daibazaal’s role in the Galactic Coalition, and seek to rebuild the Galra Empire. They believe that the Coalition is an unlawful confederation which infringes on individual sovereignty by strong-arming planets into joining. They also have made some attempts to sway other Coalition planets to their cause, and have the support—or at least acceptance—of at least two major parties on Coalition-founding planets.”

A worried mumble filled the room.

“Thank you, Keith,” Shiro said, pitching his voice to be heard over the concerns of the gathered officers, “Increasing concerns about the influence of the Separatists is exactly why Atlas has been assigned this diplomatic mission to Joraq.”

Shiro clicked a button on a hand-held remotes and brought up a map of the planet Joraq and the surrounding sector. Joraq’s system was small, but it was close to a system with ten planets that had recently joined the Coalition. With the large neighboring Allodienne system now part of the Coalition, a new teludav was under construction in the sector. This teludav, once completed, would put both systems within a quintant’s travel of the Galactic Hub, the enormous station that housed the Galactic Coalition government, the largest research center in the galaxy, a shipyard as big as some small moons, and the Blades operational headquarters. 

“Joraq is about to hold a referendum on joining the Coalition, but the governments of the two major nations on the planet hold opposing views on the Coalition. Among the Yorans”—Shiro zoomed in on Joraq to a large landmass in the southern hemisphere—“ninety-one percent of the population support joining the Coalition.” A graphic with a pie chart appeared over the landmass, with a slice almost the size of the whole chart labeled _SUPPORTS._

Shiro pressed the button again and the planet turned, showing another large landmass on the other side of the planet. “The Eu on the other hand”—another pie chart appeared, again with a large slice, but this one was labeled _DOES NOT SUPPORT_. The graphics of the planet then disappeared and were replaced by a photo of tall, thin people with long arms—longer than their legs—that ended in three fingers. In the photo, there was also clearly a Galran man wearing the grey uniform of the Separatists.

“The Coalition worries that the Separatists have swayed the Eu with propaganda. Our mission is to travel to Joraq to meet with the Eu and the Yorans, to clear up any confusion sowed by the Separatists. Hunk will lead diplomatic talks with the peoples of Joraq, and we will be picking up some additional ambassadors from Coalition planets on the way there. Details are still forthcoming about those diplomats.”

Shiro clicked to the next part of his presentation. The screen now showed what looked like news stories from Joraq—instances of bombings and hostage situations. “There are some concerns about Hunk’s safety, and the safety of anyone from Atlas, when we reach Joraq. The Coalition has put together a large and capable security team, but as I mentioned before Keith will act as Hunk’s primary bodyguard. The Separatists so far have avoided directly attacking Blades operatives or their bases, so we hope that assigning Keith to Hunk will send a clear message to anyone intent on harming the Representative.”

Shiro then opened the floor for questions from his gathered officers, and a few asked questions about travel to Joraq, supplies for the trip, and a bunch of other day-to-day running of Atlas questions that had nothing to do with Keith. 

A question came up about traveling to Joraq, and Shiro gestured for another officer—probably from Navigation—to stand up. She took Shiro’s place at the head of the table, and took Shiro’s slide clicker … thing. She changed image on the screen to a large star chart that represented Joraq’s whole system with a tiny dot.

“Construction on a teludav in that sector is still ongoing,” she said as she used a laser pointer to indicate the sector in question, “So Atlas can’t just open its own wormhole near Joraq. Doing so would destabilize the permanent wormhole under construction and potentially result in a catastrophic collapse that could ripple out to destroy the whole teludav network. Since we would like to avoid this outcome, we will be taking the long route to Joraq.”

She clicked and a route from their current location appeared, highlighting the teludavs they would use to cross the largest parts of open space. She traced a line from where they were in orbit around Toluhmahtu VII to the nearest teludav to a dot labeled _Vosgarian Station_.

“The IGF-Atlas will need to dock first at Vosgarian Station to take on fuel and food and water and rotate some of the crew,” she continued, “All told, including the stop at the station, we should make it to Joraq in about eleven movements, with at least seven movements of travel through open space.”

Awesome. Just over two whole phoebs on Atlas. Atlas might be large, but there was little to no privacy for someone like Keith. And few places to hide if anyone came looking for him.

Shiro thanked the officer and resumed his place up front. He doled out orders to the other officers, and then dismissed the meeting. It was clear from Shiro’s instructions that this would be the first meeting of many. Once dismissed, the officers packed up their things to leave, clustering in small groups to chat before going back to whatever they were working on before. Shiro stopped at a few groups, just a moment to say _hi_ and check in, but his forward progress was in Keith’s direction.

_Fuck_ , Keith thought. Trapped with the table on one side and a group of officers on the other, there was no way for him to make a clean escape. So, he just stood up out of his seat and waited for the inevitable, waited for his first one-on-one conversation with Shiro since ...

“Keith, can we talk in my office?” Shiro’s voice was pitched low, not meant for the ears of the departing officers or Hunk. Keith turned to Hunk, but Hunk was on the other side of the conference table deeply engaged in catching up with Acxa. Keith turned back to Shiro and that was a mistake. Shiro’s gaze was soft, but there was an impatience in his eyes. What could Shiro want to talk to _Keith_ about? And so urgently?

“I ...” Keith hesitated, searching for an excuse—anything would do. Maintenance on his ship was already finished and Acxa was taking care of getting his stuff moved to his assigned sleeping quarters. He looked to Hunk again, apologized in his head for bringing Hunk into it, and stiffened his spine into a more formal posture. “I’m sorry Captain Shirogane,” Keith said, “Hunk asked me to join him after the meeting.”

Hunk glanced over at them when Keith said his name, and Keith silently pleaded with Hunk not to expose his lie. Keith looked back to Shiro, his face set in a deep frown—whether caused by Keith’s use of Shiro’s title or just his general refusal, Keith didn’t know.

Shiro took a step forward into Keith’s space, and Keith retreated. Shiro took another step, and Keith had nowhere to go, trapped by the conference table.

“I would really like to talk to you, Keith,” Shiro said, his voice still so low, so intimate. His voice ghosted over Keith’s skin, and Keith shivered. He hated that Shiro still had this effect on him. 

Shiro’s hand moved to rest on the back of one of the chairs and its new position caught the light just right to glint of the gold of his wedding band. Keith’s heart clenched when he saw it. He’d thought after five years, seeing the ring wouldn’t have such an effect on Keith. 

Keith had to be cruel. “Is that an order?”

“What?” Shiro’s voice cracked. Keith had shocked him, had hurt him. The mean little gremlin in Keith’s brain thought that it was what Shiro deserved.

Keith swallowed—hard. “Are you ordering me to talk to you?”

Shiro’s face fell. He seemed to fold up into himself before shaking his head. Shiro took two steps back, suddenly aware of how he’d boxed Keith in. “Of course it isn’t an order. Keith, I—“

“Keith!” Hunk said, and both Keith and Shiro turned to face him. Hunk was still on the other side of the conference table, but Acxa was gone. “Are you ready to go?”

“I really should go,” Keith said. He used his chance to get away from the table and put a few more feet between them. Keith stood at attention, formally waiting to be dismissed.

Shiro sighed and shook his head. “You don’t need my permission, but you may go, Keith.”

Keith turned away from Shiro and walked around the table to follow Hunk out of the door. Keith risked a look back over his shoulder and saw Shiro sitting at the table, his head in his hands. Keith didn’t wait to see what Shiro would do next. He turned his eyes back to the front, and tried to put the conversation out his mind for as long as possible. 


	4. Chapter 4

Hunk opened the door to his suite with a flourish and said, “Ta da!”

Keith laughed as he stepped into the room, and for a moment he forgot he was on Atlas. Space on Atlas was at a premium, so most living and sleeping areas were shared, small, and designed to fit as much stuff and people in as possible. Hunk’s living area had plenty of room to spare—if Keith stuck out both of his arms, there’d be several feet on either side before he touched a wall. The whole room was set up on levels, with a semi-circular couch sunken in the floor right when you walked in, behind that a kitchenette and dining area on the same level as the entrance, and behind that steps up to a lofted sleeping space.

It was _homey_. That was the only word to describe what Hunk had done to the space. He’d given it touches that were all his own, from a crocheted blanket artfully thrown over the couch cushions to small plants hanging under a grow light and connected to an irrigation system by the window in the back of the room. Keith also spotted a gaming console rigged up to the entertainment center, wires pooling out of an open panel in the wall.

Hunk watched Keith look around, pride evident on his face. Keith stepped down to the sitting area and half-fell onto the couch. He didn’t know what to say.

“What do you think?” Hunk prompted him.

Keith looked up at him from the couch, craning his neck to see Hunk above him. “When did you move in? This looks so … nice.”

Hunk smiled at the compliment. “I got the job about six months ago—er, six _phoebs_ ago—and moved in immediately. As fun and as space travel is, I’d gotten used to some comforts being back home.”

“Yeah …” Keith couldn’t really relate. He’d been living with a bag packed and one foot out the door since he was a kid. Comfort was a regular shower and knowing where your next meal was coming from. Beyond that, Keith didn’t have much of a point of reference. But if Keith closed his eyes, Hunk’s room almost reminded him of the shack he’d spent the year in after Shiro’s disappearance. It had those same touches—a blanket on the couch, things tacked up on the wall, a place to prepare your own food, space to move around. 

Hunk walked over to the small kitchen on the other side of the room, and started pulling dishes down from cabinets. He didn’t say anything, and Keith felt the silence between them grow heavy. Was Hunk waiting for Keith to say something? To apologize? Or was Hunk just busy doing something in his kitchen?

Keith played with the fringe on Hunk’s blanket, braiding a few strands together and then moving on to another section of fringe and braiding that. He realized that he had braided all of the fringe on one end of the blanket, panicked, and unbraided it all quickly. Just in case.

A smell wafted over from Hunk’s kitchen, shortly followed by the man himself in an apron with two bowls of something steaming. “Ramen?” Hunk asked, holding the bowl down low enough for Keith to see. Keith wanted to decline Hunk’s offer—Hunk bringing him food meant that he would have to stay and eat the food and if he stayed and ate the food, he’d probably have to talk about things he didn’t want to talk about while they ate the food.

But Keith’s stomach answered for him. It growled and gurgled, and Hunk laughed as he handed Keith a bowl. He pulled a cloth napkin from over his shoulder and handed it to Keith with a pair of chopsticks from his apron pocket, before sitting down next to Keith and digging into his dinner.

Keith took a bite and was instantly transported back to Earth—specifically an off-base ramen shop he’d visited as a teenager with Shiro. Keith had been a cadet and didn’t have leave privileges but somehow Shiro had convinced someone to let Keith out for the afternoon. They’d taken Shiro’s hoverbike out across the desert to the closest big city—over an hour away—and Keith got his very first taste of ramen, his first experience with chopsticks, and his first glimpse at the Shiro that no one else knew, the Shiro that was hidden behind the Garrison golden boy mask. 

Shiro had seemed so much older then—he was an Adult, after all. But at the time, Shiro had to have been only twenty-one or twenty-two. Still so young, too young to have lived through so much and to have so much put on his shoulders. But, then again, Keith had been about that same age when Team Voltron stopped Honerva. And Hunk had been three years younger!

Keith looked over at Hunk, who was slurping up his noodles and looking at something on his tablet. Keith couldn’t figure out if he was being ignored or if Hunk was waiting for Keith to make the first move. It was making him crazy. It was making him second guess himself. 

“Um,” Keith said, tired of not knowing what to say so just saying something, “Thanks for the ramen.”

Hunk swallowed the bite he was chewing on. “No problem, man. You looked like you needed to not be around people anymore.”

That was partially true. It was mostly that he needed to not be around _Shiro_ anymore.

“Plus,” Hunk continued, “this is better than the food goo you get in the cafeteria, no matter how much they dress it up to look like real food.”

Hunk stuck out his tongue in disgust and Keith laughed. Hunk looked down at his bowl and swirled around his noodles. He looked casual, but Keith didn’t trust appearances. Keith braced for whatever he was going to say next.

“How’s the food with the Blades?”

That was not the question Keith had been expecting. “Fine,” Keith said, “Mostly food goo and protein bricks on missions, but I’m used to it now.”

Hunk looked up at Keith. “So, you’ve been on a lot of missions in space?”

So this was Hunk’s angle. Keith should’ve known Hunk would use food to get Keith to talk. 

Keith shrugged. “I guess. It’s always one assignment after the next, and I’m rarely assigned to the Hub or a planet.”

“And what kind of assignments have you had?”

Keith looked at Hunk out of the corner of his eyes. Hunk looked innocent—too innocent. Keith narrowed his eyes. “All sorts of things, really. I’ve done undercover work, intelligence work, some humanitarian work. You name it, I’ve probably done it. Well, I’ve never been someone’s bodyguard until now.”

“And, you’ve been happy?”

Keith put his bowl in his lap and tuned his body to Hunk. “Look, Hunk,” Keith said, “I know what you’re doing. I don’t really want to do the whole catch up thing right now or explain why I haven’t been in touch or come to any of the reunions or —“

“Oh, I know why,” Hunk said, putting his bowl in his lap, too, “You were in love with Shiro and he got married to someone else.”

Keith felt his whole world narrow down to a tiny point in front of Hunk’s face. His blood roared in his ears and the skin from his sternum to the tips of his ears was on fire. Keith tried to speak, but no words came out. 

Hunk put a hand on Keith’s knee. “I’m pretty sure no one else has figured it out though. Except Pidge maybe. They always roll their eyes when Lance asks about you.”

Keith spluttered. “That’s not—”

Hunk, ignoring Keith, started ticking off his fingers. “Then Lance whines when you don’t show up, and Allura thinks you’re just going through some form of Galra puberty. Coran starts talking about being young and exploring the stars, and then he usually tells stories about him and Alfor when they were young …”

“Hunk,” Keith interrupted, “That’s not— _I’m_ not—or, I wasn’t—“

Hunk gave Keith a look of sympathy, a look like he didn’t believe Keith’s objections. “You and Shiro were always so close, and then you left and didn’t contact anyone for five years. It’s not hard to put these two things together.”

Keith clenched his fists. He gritted his teeth. _This_ is exactly why he didn’t want to stay on Atlas. If Hunk had figured it out, how long until someone else did? How long until Keith was inundated with looks of pity like the one Hunk was wearing? What had Shiro said to Hunk?

Hunk’s hand squeezed Keith’s knee in an attempt to comfort him. It didn’t work. “Did Shiro say anything?” Keith asked. It sounded too desperate to Keith’s ears. 

Hunk took his hand back, shocked. “So, he _knows_ —“ 

Keith stood up, cutting off Hunk’s question before he could ask it. He shoved his bowl at Hunk and thanked him again for the food. Hunk looked up at him, confused and concerned.

Keith had to go. He had to get out of this room. He had to get off this ship. 

Hunk stood up, too. “Keith, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keith lied, “I just have ... other business to see to.”

With that, Keith scrambled up out of Hunk’s sunken seating area and walked briskly to the door. He didn’t wait for Hunk to see him out—he just took off. He considered hopping in his ship and going as far as his fuel and water would take him. He could probably at the very least get to the nearest teludav, and then he could go anywhere. 

Keith stopped walking when he realized he’d subconsciously taken himself to the hangar. He put a hand on the door of his ship, felt the cool metal under his fingertips. No one had tried to stop him—he could just _go_. 

The door opened suddenly, and Keith barely kept his balance as he fell down the steps. It was Acxa, her two Blades-issued duffels slung over her shoulders.

“It’s empty,” she said, walking down the steps to the hangar floor, “I already moved all of your stuff.”

“Were you waiting for me?”

“Not really. I needed to move the rest of my things”—she lifted her shoulders, and the duffels raised with them—“But I might have lingered just to see if you’d show up.”

Keith huffed. “Sorry I’m so predictable.”

“It’s not that,” she said, shaking her head, “I know you’re having a hard time with your new assignment and your first response to trouble is to bolt.”

Keith hated being so transparent. He’d tried for years, but he couldn’t seem to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve. It made him too vulnerable, too open to attack.

Keith bit his lip. “What would happen if I ... just left?”

“Kolivan would be pretty mad. He doesn’t like insubordination. It might get you kicked out, though I know he’s put up with worse from you.”

Keith felt another wave of heat on his face as he flushed with embarrassment. He was surprised there was any blood left in the rest of his body.

Acxa stepped closer and put a hand on Keith’s forearm. “And your friends would be sad to see you go. Don’t you think you owe them an explanation? You’ve been gone a long time.”

“I can’t, Acxa,” Keith said, “It’s too much. I—“

Keith stopped at the sound of footsteps. Both Keith and Acxa turned toward the source of the noise, and saw Shiro duck under the wing of a nearby ship and approach them. He halted when he saw them look at him, surprise written all over his face.

“Acxa,” he said. He looked down at where Acxa’s hand still rested on Keith’s arm. “I wasn’t expecting you. I though Keith might ... be leaving.“

Keith rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have a job to do. I’m not going anywhere. I just needed a walk and I ended up here.” Keith thought he saw Acxa grin, but it could have been a trick of the light.

“I see,” said Shiro, “Do you need me to show you where your sleeping quarters are then?”

Keith looked at Acxa. “Acxa’s headed that way, so I’ll just go with her.”

“Oh, I see,” Shiro said again. He looked uncomfortable, like he didn’t know where to put his hands or train his eyes. He settled on hands on hips, eyes on Keith. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

Keith wasn’t sure how to reply, so he didn’t. Acxa started walking away from Keith’s ship, so Keith followed her. He thought he heard Shiro let out a long, heavy sigh, but it was probably just Atlas’ ventilation system.


	5. Chapter 5

Keith stared up at the ceiling of his bunk, restless from the lack of activity. He’d tried to sleep but there was this itch under his skin, the kind of itch that wouldn’t let him settle down. He checked his watch.

Too early to sleep. Too late to do much of anything else.

He wished he had taken off in his ship. He was fairly certain this is what dying of boredom felt like. He’d been stuck on tiny outposts on far-flung asteroids for phoebs with no company but pirated Bi Boh Bi sitcoms, and that was more interesting than three quintants on Atlas. 

In those three quintants, he’d had two more briefings with the senior staff and Hunk about flight plans and supply chain logistics and—it was too boring to even remember what else was talked about. In any case, no one actually needed _Keith_ to be there, but if Hunk had to attend, so did Keith. Not that Keith and Hunk had said much to each other since that first night. Hunk had been kind, but distant—whether out of respect for Keith’s boundaries or because he was upset with Keith, Keith didn’t know. 

The rest of Keith’s time was unscheduled, and he didn’t have any other responsibilities on Atlas. Acxa kept in touch with the Blades and reported everything to Keith, further denying Keith something interesting to do. So that left Keith long stretches of time to bum around Atlas and neither Keith nor Atlas was built for leisure. 

Keith gave up on sleeping and pushed up the rolling door to his bunk. In the dim lighting, he could see down his row—two bunks stacked one on top of each other across the aisle—and a little bit of the hallway beyond. The bunks across from him were all shut tight and the only noise in the room was the soft hum of the life support systems.

Keith grabbed his slippers from a small storage compartment at the foot of his bed and held them as he climbed down a ladder from the top bunk, before putting them on and sneaking silently by the rows and rows of sleeping crew tucked up in their bunks. With shifts worked around the clock, about a third of the crew assigned to one of Atlas’ sleeping quarters was asleep at any given time. Being too noisy or turning on too many lights in the bunk room was a good way to get on everyone else’s bad side. 

Keith slid open the door between the bunk room and the locker room, the door moving silently on magnetic rails. He found the locker room similarly deserted, but the middle of the shift was the least busy time for the locker room. Everyone had already come and gone—to work, to bed, to eat. Keith walked over to his locker and changed into a tank top and shorts. As long as he couldn’t sleep, he might try to tire himself out at the gym. Keith replaced his slippers with a pair of sneakers Acxa had procured for him. They were the same orange on white of everything else from Atlas’ commissary—shampoo, soap, toothbrush, shower shoes, and distressingly, condom wrappers. 

He left through a door to the lounge on the other side of the locker room. There were a few private rooms in the lounge, but all of them were full with crew members making calls. The rest of the lounge room had a few couches and a few tables—enough for forty to fifty people to all sit at the same time—and a kitchen with a built-in small appliances. He passed by a line to the coffee pot, a clutch of about seven younger crew members playing a complicated board game, and three people trying to fix the signal of a broadcast of American football. 

Keith passed them all by. He wondered if, given a normal upbringing and not being half-alien, he would have ended up like the board game playing kids or football watching kids. He’d never developed hobbies—how could he have in foster care or the group home or living out in the desert alone? Could he develop one now? Or was he too old?

He pushed those thoughts away as he turned the corner on the last stretch of hallway towards the gym. He might not have been on Atlas for a few years, but it was hard to forget where the gym was. One of the larger spaces on the ship—only smaller than the hangar—and centrally located, there was a good chance you’d end up at the gym without even trying.

Keith stepped into Atlas’ gym and his sneakers squeaked on the rubber tiles of the floor. Keith however felt more than heard the noise, as the gym was packed full of people. Three stories tall and hundreds of feet long, its array of exercise machines and weights were all occupied, and a few people jogged along a running track circling the upper floors. Keith also had to quickly step out of the way when he entered to avoid an errant basketball player hurtling his way. 

Keith hugged the perimeter of the room, hoping to avoid a future collision, and found Acxa jumping rope near a sparring ring, several crew members clustered around and looking like they were waiting for something.

“Oh good,” Acxa said when she saw him. She put down the rope and took a drink of water. “Get warmed up and meet me in the ring. I already sparred with half the security team, and I’m looking for a real challenge.”

A few of the spectators bristled, but Acxa didn’t pay them any attention. Keith shrugged and went for a jog around the main floor of the gym. It felt good to get the blood pumping through his body—he hadn’t had a good jog since before his most recent undercover mission. When he got back to the ring, Acxa had already taped up her hands and was throwing a few test punches. Keith followed her into the ring and wrapped up his hands as well.

“Typical Blade points system okay?” she asked.

“Works for me,” Keith said. After Keith’s unexpected growth spurt, he and Acxa were about the same height and the same build. It made sparring with her a different kind of challenge. Most of the other Blades were full Galra and much bigger than Keith. They were stronger, but Keith was faster—and Acxa was even faster than he was. 

Acxa started bouncing on the balls of her feet. Time to fight. Time to knock her off her game.

“So, Acxa, what’s next for you? Planning on leaving when we get to Vosgarian Station?”

“Haven’t received new orders yet,” she said, “Maybe Krolia wants me to babysit you on Atlas.”

Keith protested and Acxa used his distraction to kick him in the ribs. She pulled the kick, but the blow still stunned him, and she used that to hook his leg with her ankle and knock him flat on his back.

She stood over him, her hands on her hips. “Two points for me. Keith, I thought you’d at least be better than the Atlas security team.”

Keith rolled his eyes and Acxa helped him back up. They started again, Keith stepping to the side as Acxa threw a punch. He tried to use her forward momentum to push her off balance, but she was too quick for that. She spun around and they faced each other again.

Keith blocked another punch—this one aimed at his head—and turned his block into a grab. He pulled her forward and elbowed her in the lower back. She grunted in pain, but it wasn’t enough to bring her down. 

“Two-one,” Acxa said as she circled back around, “If I had a choice, I wouldn’t mind staying here on Atlas.”

“Stay here?” Keith scrunched up his noise in disgust. Acxa feinted with her left, but Keith was ready for the real punch with her right. He ducked under her strike and pushed her torso with his shoulder. She stumbled for a moment but regained her balance.

“I like it here,” she explained, “I like the people here. Working with the Blades can be so lonely.” Acxa’s arm shot out around Keith’s neck, and she pulled him into a headlock. “Don’t you think it’s lonely?” 

“I guess,” Keith said, though moving his jaw was hard with it pinned to Acxa’s hip. Keith turned in Acxa’s grip, trying to get an elbow into the side of her face, but she was too fast. She flipped him on to the ground—again. _Four to one._

Keith groaned. He didn’t hurt really, at least not physically. His pride on the other hand ...

Keith pushed himself back up on his feet. “I like working alone. I thought _you_ liked working alone.”

Acxa stopped bouncing on her feet for a moment, surprise written on her face. Keith used that surprise to kick her in the chest, pushing her back up against the ropes of the ring. “Why would you think that?”

It was Keith’s turn to be surprised. He’d always just assumed ... But there’d been a point when she was one of Lotor’s generals. And when given the opportunity, she’d immediately joined up with Team Voltron. Maybe Acxa was a joiner after all.

Acxa stood up again, but dropped her fighting stance. She gave Keith a curious look. “There’s a difference between lonely and alone.”

Keith stood up straight and let his arms fall to his side, following her lead. “What do you mean? Lonely, alone—it’s all the same thing. Isn’t it?”

Something changed in Acxa’s expression. Her features ... softened? Was it a look of sympathy? 

Keith had always been alone. That’s just the kind of person he was. 

_But that’s not true_ , part of his brain reminded him. It reminded him of times that he had been part of a team, led that team. It reminded him of how he’d felt—supported, cared for, trusted. 

He was such a fucking idiot. 

Keith started to unwrap his hands. “I think I’m done, Acxa. I … need to go talk to somebody.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Giving up that easily? I barely broke a sweat.”

“No, it’s not that,” Keith said, “Just thinking about what you said. You’re right. Working with the Blades can be isolating. I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Acxa gave him a funny sort of smile, like she hadn’t expected Keith to admit he liked having her around. She grabbed his forearm and he gripped hers. “Get out of here. Go have your conversation.”

Keith scrambled out of the ring as Acxa selected her next sparring partner. He stumbled getting down, and for an instant thought he saw the glint of fluorescent light on a white haired figure. But by the time he’d caught himself enough to look around, the figure was gone.

* * *

Keith knocked on the door and waited. He’d taken a shower before coming, but he figured now that was probably a mistake. After sparring, and showering, it was well after midnight. What if there was no answer? Should he try again tomorrow? What was he going to say? How to apologize—

“Keith?”

The door opened, and a bleary-eyed Hunk looked up at Keith.

Keith took a deep breath. Okay, you can do this.

“Hey Hunk. I’m sorry for running off a few days ago and then kinda ghosting you. I don’t really have a good excuse. But it wasn’t fair of me to treat you that way, Hunk. So I just wanted to apologize…”

Hunk blinked as Keith trailed off. Keith watched Hunk process his apology, and noticed that Hunk was in his pajamas, a slightly rumpled green henley and yellow plaid boxers. 

“Oh were you sleeping? I guess I’m sorry about that, too. I’ll just leave you to … so you can … you probably want to sleep.”

Hunk laughed and grabbed Keith’s arm before he could get away.

“I was in bed but I wasn’t asleep yet. Come in, Keith.”

The thrum of anxiety left Keith’s body, and he let Hunk pull him into the room and drop him down in a chair in his kitchen. A few minutes later, Keith accepted a mug of hot chocolate from Hunk. He drank it, enjoying the warm sweetness of the chocolate, and Hunk sat down at the table next to him with his own mug.

“Okay, Keith,” Hunk said, “Let’s talk.”

“I’m sorry, Hunk,” Keith said again.

Hunk smiled, “You said that already.”

Keith looked down at his mug as he swirled around what was left of his hot chocolate.

Hunk nudged Keith with his elbow. “I’d probably be just as overwhelmed if I were in your shoes.”

“I’m not—“ Keith started but there was no point in arguing with Hunk. “Okay, I am. I’m pretty overwhelmed.”

Hunk took a sip from his mug and gestured for Keith to continue.

“I’ve been working with the Blades since … um … well, for five years now, but in the last year, I’ve been pretty much on my own. I’ve been alone before, and I chose to take the solo mission with the Blades, but being back here is … hard. I haven’t thought about any of this—or the way I might feel about it—for a long time.”

Hunk nodded. “We all went our separate ways after the Lions left, but with you, it was different. Lance and Allura and Pidge and I all went to work on our own things, but we had goodbyes and ways to contact each other and planned reunions. With you—you were just _gone_.”

Shame welled up in Keith’s belly. He stared down at his mug. “I’m sorry,” he said again, “Everyone must hate me.”

“No Keith, nobody hates you,” Hunk said, shaking his head. He put a hand on Keith’s bicep. “And if anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

Keith looked up at Hunk, startled.

“I told you—I knew what was going on with you. I should have reached out. It wasn’t like I couldn’t’ve figure out how to contact you. But, it’s so easy to get caught up in your own life that five years pass before you realize you should have called your friend.”

It was Keith’s turn to shake his head. “I don’t know if I would have taken that call.”

“What about now? After we’re done with the diplomatic mission to Joraq—would you take my call then?”

“Yeah, man. I’ve …” Keith cleared his throat. It had suddenly gotten harder to speak for some reason. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Hunk’s arms came up around Keith so fast Keith almost spilled his drink. Hunk sniffled and Keith smiled. “There there, buddy.”

Keith let Hunk hold him until Hunk’s emotions were under control. It was one of the longer hugs of Keith’s life, and he caught himself reveling in it. He’d never been one for physical affection, but Hunk made it so easy. Maybe because Hunk gave so much without asking for anything in return. Or maybe he was just a good hugger. Solid arms, consistent pressure—Hunk knew how to hug a person.

Keith extracted himself from Hunk’s arms and looked around the room. Hunk might be crying, but that didn’t mean that Keith should let himself cry too. He spotted the video game console jury rigged to Atlas’ entertainment center. “Got any good games?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said as he wiped his eyes, “Let me get some more hot chocolate and then I’ll kick you ass at Meteor Destroyer 3000.”

Keith laughed and watched Hunk move around his space. He refilled their mugs and shooed Keith away from the kitchen and over to the living area. He booted up the console and threw a controller at Keith. Hunk looked so comfortable in the space. Keith wondered if he’d ever looked that much like he was home. 

Hunk had the Meteor Destroyer title screen pulled up and was about to start the game when Keith asked a question. “Did you really not try to contact me the whole time I was gone?”

Keith didn’t know where that question came from—it felt ripped out of the deepest and most insecure part of his soul. He wanted to take it back.

Hunk sighed. “I talked to Krolia a lot after she started acting as the Galran GC Representative. I think that’s how I got this job, to be honest.”

Keith raised his eyebrows. His mother had never mentioned talking to Hunk, or really anyone but Kolivan and important people in the new Galra Parliament. 

“I figured ... if you really needed someone, Krolia would let me know,” Hunk said, “And I’ve kind of been wondering if that’s why you’re here on Atlas.”

Keith bristled at the implication—that things with Keith were going so bad that Krolia stepped in to push him back toward his old friends. But hadn’t Keith basically come to the same conclusion? That someone—whether Krolia or Kolivan or both of them—had engineered this assignment for non-tactical reasons. Emotional reasons. “I’ve been wondering the same thing,” Keith said, “if I’m honest.”

Hunk put down his controller, and Keith felt more words bubble out of the dark place inside. “Acxa made me think recently—or realize, I guess. I’ve been pretty alone since I left, but I’d been alone for so long growing up that I hadn’t realized that I was also ... lonely. I really am happy to see you, Hunk.”

Tears welled up in Hunk’s eyes again. Keith braced for another hug, but Hunk just shook his head. “Thanks for talking to me, Keith. I’m happy to see you, too.”


	6. Chapter 6

Atlas docked at Vosgarian Station two movements after Keith’s first meeting as Hunk’s bodyguard. The station knew Atlas was coming, and had cleared out the main dock on Dome Two—one of the three domes that made up the station. Dome One was mostly residential, which a few neighborhood shops and restaurants for permanent station occupants, and Dome Three was for commercial shipping, with its enormous docks and towering storage facilities. Dome Two was the heart of the Vosgarian Station, and where the best shopping, dining, and entertainment could be found in the galaxy—at least that’s what the station bragged.

Leading up to their arrival, Atlas had been full of a general feeling of restlessness. Keith saw it the few times he went into the lounge—crew members talking excitedly about getting off the ship, stretching their legs, wearing civilian clothes, eating something other than cafeteria food, gambling at the casinos, watching a movie. He also saw a few crew members clearing out their lockers and packing their things, their deployment over. While not as centrally located as the Hub, Vosgarian was only vargas away from the first teludav erected by the Galactic Coalition, making it only a short trip through a wormhole away from Earth and two from the Hub. It made sense that Atlas would rotate her crew on Vosgarian.

Keith had every intention of hunkering down in his bunk until they left the station, preferring to stay out of the way of the boisterous crew ready to go home or go on leave. But Hunk had other ideas. Hunk had taken on a personal mission to find the best Merovese dumplings, which several restaurants boasted on the station. And of course, Hunk had asked Keith to join him on his dumpling quest, and then relax in one of the station’s spas.

Keith didn’t know what Merovese dumplings were and he’d never been a spa person. But, at the very least, it sounded like a better way to avoid Shiro than hiding in his bunk. 

Keith ditched his usual Marmora garb and opted for jeans and a red jacket pulled over a plain black t-shirt when he picked up Hunk at his rooms. Hunk was also dressed informally in a pair of old cargo pants and a yellow tee. Keith laughed when he saw him. “We kind of look like teenagers again,” Keith said.

Hunk laughed, too. “I guess we really haven’t changed all that much.”

“Not our fashion sense.”

Keith gestured for Hunk to lead the way to the elevator that would lower them onto the station, and Hunk started talking about the Merovese dumplings, a popular dish from the planet Vosgarian orbited.

“So, what’s inside the dumpling again?” Keith asked.

“It’s a grain—well, it’s more of the fungus that grows on the grain, like huitlacoche—“

“Like what?”

“—and that grain fungus is formed into a ball, with a few other things, and then it’s breaded and fried.”

Keith frowned. “So it’s a mushroom ball?”

“Not quite,” Hunk said, “It tastes more like … sour meat. At least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Oh good.” Keith groaned. He did not understand the appeal of regional delicacies like Hunk did. Maybe Keith wouldn’t have to eat that many.

Keith stepped onto the elevator, Hunk still explaining the finer points of the dumplings, when someone called out to Hunk.

“Hunk!” Shiro yelled, “Keith! Hold that elevator!”

Keith froze and Hunk had to reach over him to hold the open door button. Shiro jogged on to the elevator, and Keith felt like his brain was making that whirring noise that overworked computers make. 

“Thanks,” Shiro said as he crossed the threshold of the elevator. “Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, but I had to finish all of the refueling paperwork. So, tell me about this dumpling we’re going to eat.”

Keith whipped his head to look at Hunk and Hunk looked anywhere but at Keith. 

“It’s gonna taste like sour meat,” Keith said. Maybe Shiro would bail if he knew how disgusting the dumplings were going to be. “It’s a fungus ball.”

“And it’s slightly fermented,” Hunk added. 

Shiro made a slight face, but quickly replaced it with a smile. “I’ve eaten all sorts of foods on all sorts of planets and moons and stations. If Hunk thinks it’s going to be good, that’s enough for me.”

Hunk still wouldn’t meet Keith’s eyes, and Keith would’ve shaken him if Shiro hadn’t been right there.

_A whole day with Shiro_. A whole day eating gross food and— Keith paled. The spa!!

How was Keith going to get through a day of dumpling eating knowing that they were going to the spa at the end of it? And he would be—and Shiro would be—maybe Keith would just keep his clothes on.

The elevator dropped them off on the station and the three of them walked to the temporary Atlas Personnel booth. Everyone on Atlas had to check in with Personnel both so they knew who was and wasn’t on the ship at all times, and to make sure no one was sneaking off when they should be working. Even Keith and Hunk, who weren’t officially crew on Atlas, were logged as off-ship and given orange leave cards on lanyards. When they were ready to reboard, they’d check back in and turn in their cards. 

Shiro and Hunk both put their leave cards around their necks, but Keith tucked his into his jeans pocket. Keith watched Shiro out of the corner of his eye. Dressed in black jeans and a light grey sweater, he looked so casual, approachable. In the sharply pressed Atlas uniform, Shiro looked formal and distant, a contained energy about him befitting the senior officer of the ship. Shiro didn’t have to raise his voice to get things done in his uniform. But in his sweater, he was just another man. This was the Shiro Keith knew—kind eyes, gentle smiles, words of encouragement. On the ship, Shiro’s prosthetic looked like just more Atlas stuff, its blue glow the same general glow of the ship. But out on the station, it seemed to light up Shiro from within. 

He was radiant. And Keith couldn’t help but get caught up in his light.

They left the Personnel booth and pulled out their credentials to show to the station police to enter the station proper. There was a stream of Atlas crew both in front and behind them. Shiro, Keith and Hunk were admitted to the station after a pair of crew members with large duffels slung over their shoulders. Keith overheard them talking about a ship departing for Earth in five vargas, ferrying about a hundred crew members back home. 

Shiro led them onto the station, the crowd in front of them thinning once they’d past the entrance gates. Then Shiro stopped so suddenly that Keith crashed into him.

Keith pulled himself away from Shiro, his fingers lingering on the soft wool covering Shiro’s shoulders. “What the—“ 

“Curtis?” Shiro asked. Keith looked around Shiro’s shoulder and saw him—Curtis Shirogane. He had a small overnight duffel and a messenger bag, and Keith wondered if he’d come to visit Shiro while they were on leave. As far as Keith knew, Curtis had left Atlas when Shiro did, taking a job with the Garrison on Earth.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” Shiro said. “I thought—“

“I couldn’t wait,” Curtis said, by way of an explanation. “Can we go somewhere?”

Shiro nodded and walked over to Curtis, hugging him and dropping a peck on Curtis’ check before taking his messenger bag.

“Sorry Hunk—“ Curtis looked at Keith and his eyes narrowed a fraction. “Keith. But would you mind if I borrow Takashi for a bit?”

Hunk’s eyes darted between Shiro and Curtis and Keith, before landing on Curtis. “No problem. You both can just catch up with us later.”

“Unfortunately,” Curtis said with a polite, but distant, smile, “I won’t be able to join you. I’m going to be leaving on the ship back to Earth this afternoon.”

“This afternoon?” Shiro asked, “You have to leave that quickly?”

“The Garrison barely let me have this time as it is and—”

“Okay!” Hunk said, cutting in, “No worries. Shiro—“ he waved his personal comms at Shiro. “Call me when you’re done.”

Shiro nodded to Hunk, and put his prosthetic arm on the dip in Curtis’ back. He lead Curtis away and waved to Hunk and Keith, who left in the other direction.

“Well that was weird,” Hunk said, looking over his shoulder.

Keith agreed. Why would Curtis come all this way only to stay a few hours? And why didn’t Shiro look happy to see Curtis? If Keith’s husband came for a surprise visit—if Keith had a husband—he would be over the moon.

Hunk pulled Keith out of his musing by shoving a map in his face. Five locations were circled.

“Let the dumpling adventure begin!” Hunk said, and Keith hoped his stomach could take it.

* * *

“I think _Merovese Palace_ had the best dumplings, but the dipping sauce from _The Queen of Dumplings_ was incredible. I wonder if they’d give me the recipe,” Hunk said, half-walking and half-swimming over to an underwater bench Keith had claimed in a large bath in the spa. 

“I’m sure if you told them you were a Paladin of Voltron, they’d be happy to hand it over,” Keith said. The dumplings ended up being pretty tasty—Keith could admit he was wrong—but didn’t know if one of the restaurants had been better than any other. As far as Keith was concerned, there was no difference between any of the many dumplings they’d sampled. 

A voice interjected, “Did you go to _Merov’s Best Dumpling House_?” 

Soaking in the public bath, Hunk and Keith had attracted quite the audience with their conversation. Apparently Merovese dumplings were are a hotly debated topic on the station. A tall armored pangolin-looking man—or man-adjacent being since they were in the men-or-equivalent baths—had taken a special interest in their conversation.

Hunk shook his head. “Where are they?”

“It’s on Dome One,” he said, “In the Grove neighborhood.”

Hunk sighed. “We only had time to visit the restaurants on Dome Two.”

Their new pangolin friend shook his head. “Too bad. But the dipping sauce from The Queen of Dumplings is the best.”

Hunk turned to Keith and smiled as if to say “that’s what I said!” and Keith shook his head. “They all tasted the same to me.”

Hunk and the pangolin talked for a few more minutes, until he had to leave. That left Keith and Hunk alone in the bath, and they lapsed into silence.

Keith rested his head on his arms on a cool rock in the pool, built to look like one that might be found in a naturally occurring spring. The hot water, deep green and opaque with salts and other minerals the spa swore had magical health properties, lapped gently against Keith’s back. If he wasn’t worried about drowning, he could probably fall asleep just like this.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to spring Shiro on you,” Hunk said. Keith opened his eyes to look at Hunk, who absently swirled little eddies in the water with his hand. “He asked where I was going like an hour before we left. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want you to …”

“To bolt?” Keith supplied.

“Yeah, to bolt.” Hunk said, a small grin tugging at one corner of his mouth. “And he’s been dying to talk to you. I thought it might be easier if it wasn’t just the two of you.”

Keith shrugged. “You’re probably right, but I’m also glad he couldn’t come.”

Silence overtook them again, Keith not really knowing what to say next. He wasn’t really upset with Hunk—not anymore at least—but that could’ve been because Shiro didn’t end up spending the day with them. Shiro had called a few vargas ago, saying that he’d be detained longer than expected (Keith had a pretty good idea about how the reunited Shiroganes would be spending that time) and he might not see them until it was time to reboard Atlas. He asked for the name of the spa Hunk and Keith were visiting, just in case he could meet them there. 

“Hey Keith, can I ask you kind of sensitive question?” Hunk asked, quiet enough to not be overheard.

Keith sighed. “Sure, but I might not answer it.”

“Why don’t you want to talk to Shiro?” 

Keith closed his eyes. The question was so simple, but the answer was … complicated. How could even begin to explain it to Hunk?

“The last time we talked was right after the wedding. We didn’t part on the best of terms,” Keith said, looking down at the rock.

Hunk nodded, silently telling Keith to go on.

“I—” Keith started and faltered. He hadn’t told anyone this before. “I told him I loved him. But it when it wasn’t really him? I told his clone? It’s … weird. I said, ‘You’re my brother. I love you,’ and then he gave me this scar”—Keith pointed to his face—“and I chopped his Galra arm off.”

Keith chanced a look at Hunk, and Hunk’s mouth made a perfect ‘o’. Keith hadn’t really talked about what came next either.

“So, later, I asked him—the real him, Shiro—if he had any of the clone’s memories. He said yes and I asked him if he remembered—“ Keith’s voice faltered, betraying him.

“If he remembered what you said,” Hunk finished for him, a little awe in his voice. “Wow.”

Keith nodded. It was easier when Hunk said it.

“Wait. And you did this at the wedding?” Hunk’s awe turned to incredulity.

“No,” Keith said, “I asked him about that months before—when he and Curtis just started dating. I reminded him of that question at the wedding.”

“Oh Keith,” Hunk said, sympathy in his voice, “Oh buddy.”

“Shiro told me he … loved me—that he thinks of me as a brother, too. I might have yelled at him after that.” Keith fought past the lump in his throat. “Asked him why he was marrying some guy after like, a year, and leaving Atlas to retire, and leaving all his friends … leaving me …”

Keith had left the wedding reception, hopped on a ship as soon as possible, and asked for an assignment with the Blades that would get him as far away from Earth as possible. He thought about going back, but the pain was still too raw for the first reunion after the wedding, and he actually was busy during the second. It didn’t make sense to go to the third or fourth, since he’d missed the first two. And then the fifth came and went without him even realizing it had happened.

So five years passed, and after the first few, he’d barely missed Shiro—at least, that’s what he told himself. And now, at this point, they’d probably spent more time apart than together. That thought made something deep inside Keith ache. 

“And then you left,” Hunk said, finishing Keith’s story for him. Keith nodded and Hunk put a hand on Keith’s arm. “I didn’t know …”

Keith shook his head. “I didn’t tell you. It’s sort of momentum now—not talking is easier because we haven’t talked in so long. And the last thing I want to do is talk with him about the way we left things.”

“I understand,” Hunk said, “But I wish you hadn’t cut the rest of us out, too.”

“If it makes it any better, I didn’t plan to,” Keith said, patting Hunk’s arm where it rested on Keith’s shoulder.

“Didn’t plan what?”

Keith and Hunk looked up at the same time—Hunk’s hand still on Keith’s arm and Keith’s hand still on Hunk’s. Shiro sat on the side of the pool, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist, as he deactivated his prosthetic arm. Keith watched Shiro’s eyes move back and forth between them, his and Hunk’s heads still close together from their quiet conversation.

“Didn’t plan on staying so long in the baths,” Hunk said, a little loudly as he disentangled his body from Keith’s, “But good thing we did, or we’d’ve missed you.”

Shiro looked skeptical. “Yeah, sorry things ran long with Curtis. We had some—ah—paperwork to do.”

_Paperwork,_ Keith thought, _suuuure._

“No problem,” Keith said, “but the dumplings ended up being pretty good. Even for fungus balls.”

Shiro laughed and set down his arm. Shiro put one leg in at the steps, testing the water, before pulling at one edge of his towel.

Keith panicked. He dropped his head underwater and counted to thirty. That had to be enough time for Shiro to get into the water, right? Keith came up gasping for air, and got more than a few curious looks.

“Sorry,” he said, not really to anyone, “Um, just wanted all those good minerals, um, in my hair…”

Shiro waded over to Keith and Hunk, his lower half hidden by the opaque water of the bath. He sat down on the underwater bench next to Hunk and put his arm up on the edge of the pool. He sighed—a deep breathless kind of thing—and Keith felt his face turn to fire. 

Shiro’s skin, dappled with water from the pool, gleamed in the soft lights of the spa. How was Keith supposed to relax now?

“So you both liked the dumplings?” Shiro asked, a smile teasing at his lips. His question might have been for Hunk, too, but he only looked at Keith.

“Yeah,” Keith said, mentally kicking himself for how breathless his voice sounded. “They were pretty good.”

“Did you and Curtis get something to eat?” Hunk asked, a little too casually.

Shiro’s expression closed off for a moment, and then he gave Hunk a small smile. “We were busy. We really didn’t have time to eat.” 

Keith had a hard time making out what that smile meant. Was Shiro embarrassed? Upset? Shy? Remembering getting pounded by his husband so they didn’t have time to eat? _Oh God_ why did Keith think of that?

When Shiro didn’t offer any other details, Hunk looked and Keith, but Keith wasn’t really sure what Hunk wanted him to say. If Shiro didn’t want to say anything else, Keith wasn’t going to pry it out of him. There used to be a time when Keith wouldn’t‘ve even needed to ask—Shiro just would have told him. But that part of their relationship ended even before Voltron disappeared. 

Hunk nudged Keith with his foot, and Keith gave him an expression that he hoped conveyed _I don’t know what you want me to do._

Hunk rolled his eyes and turned back to Shiro, whose attention was on a very interesting rock on the other side of the pool. “Shiro, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling. Keith remembered that smile—that was Shiro’s I-have-chronic-pain-and-a-degenerative-muscle-disease-but-please-don’t-pity-me smile. Maybe something was wrong with Curtis. 

Hunk looked at Keith again, this time worry in his eyes. “And Curtis is—”

“He’s fine,” Shiro said, cutting Hunk off, “He’s fine.” 

Shiro was getting agitated the more questions Hunk asked. Hunk opened his mouth to ask another question, but Keith put his hand over Hunk’s mouth. There was something not fine about the Shiroganes and Keith didn’t want to push anymore. 

“Did you know Hunk has Meteor Destroyer 3000 hooked up in his room?” Keith asked, his voice coming out louder than he expected.

“Really?” A genuine smile crossed Shiro’s face. “I haven’t played that in ages.”

“Yeah, Hunk and I stayed up all night playing a few nights ago, and he kicked my ass.”

“I told you I’d been practicing,” Hunk said, pushing Keith away and knocking him off balance. Keith crashed into the water, and came up fighting—splashing Hunk as he re-emerged. 

“Okay, we’re done,” Hunk said, “I’m soaked, we’re getting looks, and I’m ready for one of those lava-rock-mud-bath things.”

Hunk started to get out of the pool and Keith averted his eyes to give Hunk some privacy. Keith noticed a few interested looks turn in Hunk’s direction—the intricate pe’a tattoo covering Hunk from his waist to his knees was beautiful—but Keith had already accidentally seen more of Hunk than he had ever planned to when they were getting into the pool.

Once Hunk was out, and wrapped up in a towel— _thank god_ —Keith looked back up and accidentally made eye contact with Shiro. Keith flushed and Shiro cocked his head. Keith could feel the weight of his scrutiny, a question forming in Shiro’s eyes. 

Keith didn’t wait for Shiro to voice whatever he was thinking.

“That actually sounds awful, Hunk. I’m gonna take a nice long shower, and I’ll meet you up front when you’re done,” Keith said, scrambling out of the pool and quickly wrapping up in a robe.

“Your loss,” Hunk said, “Shiro?”

Shiro started to say something but Keith beat him to the punch. “You should go do that mud bath whatever, Shiro. The brochure says it will take five years off your skin—though if I’m honest that sounds terrifying.”

Shiro started to get out of the pool. “Keith …” he started but Keith didn’t wait to hear the rest.

* * *

Keith sat on a stone bench on a gravel path leading away from spa through a small patch of wilderness. He stared at his shoes as he braided his still wet hair, water dripping off the ends to form wet patches on his pants. Keith finished braiding his hair and turned his gaze toward the sky full of stars. The entrance to the spa was meant to make you feel like you were outdoors planetside, and the illusion was good … if you didn’t look up. Above Keith was the ceiling of the dome, stretching out for miles around him, and beyond it, the endlessness of space. You couldn’t see stars like this on any planet.

The stars—that had been Shiro’s goal from the beginning. And Keith had been along for the ride. Shiro had wanted to go places and see things—Keith had wanted to be anywhere but where he’d been. There’d been very few times in his life when he’d been moving toward something, rather than running away, and most of those times involved saving Shiro’s life.

Keith sighed. What was he going to do with himself? Five years should’ve been enough to get over anyone. But not for Keith—not when it came to Shiro.

Keith felt Shiro’s presence before he said a word, not only the sound of Shiro’s firm steps on the path crunching gravel, but also the feeling of Shiro. Keith had always been hyper aware of Shiro, and that sixth sense hadn’t worn off with time. 

“Keith.”

Keith turned away from Shiro, and said nothing. 

“Keith,” Shiro said again, a little more pleading this time, “Would you please just talk to me?”

Keith bit his bottom lip to keep from saying anything. He picked out a leaf with his eyes on the tree opposite them and started cataloguing it—seven points, purple tips …

“I know you don’t want to talk to me. You’ve made it pretty clear.” Shiro paused and took a deep breath. “But this is killing me. I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long, and now that we have the chance to talk again, you’ve hardly spoken.”

… little barbs on the stems that would probably give you a nasty little cut …

Shiro was getting agitated. “I want to have one conversation with you that doesn’t end in you running out the door. One conversation where we can talk like we used to, maybe catch up …”

“Okay,” Keith said turning away from the leaf and toward Shiro, “What happened with Curtis today?”

Shiro’s mouth turned into a tight line. It was Shiro’s turn to look away. 

Keith regretted asking the question—he’d hurt Shiro. And somehow, Keith still hurt when Shiro did. He was so fucked up.

“Sorry,” Keith said, mostly to his hands.

Shiro sat down on the bench next to Keith with a sigh. “It’s … okay.”

Neither of them spoke for some time after that, Keith stewing in his own thoughts and assuming Shiro did the same. Hunk would be out soon—they just had to make it until then.

“Will things ever go back to how they were before?” Shiro asked quietly and Keith saw Shiro turn his head out of the corner of his eye. Shiro’s face was so close—too close—so Keith trained his eyes on that tree across the path again. 

_No_. “I don’t know,” Keith said. 

Shiro rubbed the back of his neck, the same nervous habit even after all of these years. “Can’t we just be friends again?”

Be friends again. _Be friends again._ Shiro’s words cut through Keith’s thoughts like a knife. _Friends_. The bitter part of Keith wanted to lash out again. Sure, they could go back to being friends, as long as Shiro’s husband didn’t mind Keith hanging around Shiro again. 

“... Sure,” Keith said. They could be ‘friends’ for the next few phoebs until they got to Joraq, and then Keith would disappear back off into space. And he would make sure to never step foot on Atlas again.

Shiro let out a breath, and with it, all the tension left his body. “I’m glad,” he said, “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah,” Keith said, noncommittally. He was such an asshole—getting Shiro’s hopes up.

Silence yawned between them again, pressing against Keith. He had to say something—anything—“So …”

Shiro turned his head. “So?”

Keith looked at Shiro for the first time since he sat down. Keith immediately wished he hadn’t. Shiro’s face was open and patient, waiting for Keith to say whatever he was going to say. It was so familiar—Keith remembered this face from countless conversations between them. 

Keith had to look away.

“So, how long have you been back with Atlas?” he asked to his shoes.

“About two and a half or three years,” Shiro replied, “Though most of that time was spent on Earth. Atlas has only been flying again for about a year, uh, or a decaphoeb really.”

“Why’d you go back?”

Shiro paused, seeming to weigh his answer in his mind. “The short answer is … Atlas needed me. After Honerva, the Coalition and the Garrison spent a lot of time trying to figure out how Atlas worked, and if it was possible to make another Atlas. I came back on the project because they couldn’t get Atlas off the ground without me, and they wanted to know why. Then … they asked me to come back as her captain, and I said yes.”

“I guess retired life didn’t suit you,” Keith said.

“No,” Shiro said distantly, “Maybe at first but … no.”

The gravel crunched on the trail, and both Keith and Shiro looked up to see Hunk walking toward them. “My leave card starting flashing …” Hunk said, and Keith pulled his out of his pocket. A small light in the middle of the card flashed green every three ticks, indicating … probably something important.

“Time to go,” Shiro said as he stood up, “We have about a varga to get back when it’s flashing like that. Then it will flash yellow when we have about ten doboshes, and when it’s a solid red light, we’re considered to be AWOL.”

“Okay, let’s get back,” Keith said as he stood up and took a step toward Hunk. He watched a question form in the furrow of Hunk’s brows, but shook his head. They could talk about it later.

Hunk looked at Shiro, and Keith worried for a moment that he’d push like he had in the spa. He bit his lip instead and nodded for Shiro to lead the way.

Keith tucked his hands in his pockets and hung back as Hunk and Shiro chatted all the way back to Atlas. Keith was relieved that he wasn’t needed in the conversation. Maybe Shiro’d said all he needed to say. Maybe they’d be ‘friends’ like this—the not talking kind. It wouldn’t be all that different from how they’d been the last five years.

Then Shiro looked over his shoulder, his eyes finding Keith’s, and Keith felt that tug again. This is why he tried not to look Shiro in the eyes. It was too much like gravity. 

Keith kept his eyes on his shoes the rest of the way back. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is pretty short, so I’m also posting Chapter 8 at the same time!

Talk about Curtis’ surprise visit on Vosgarian Station reached Keith as soon as he was back on Atlas, and didn’t stop for a whole movement. Whether he was in the locker room, the gym, the cafeteria—the crew’s gossip about their captain was inescapable.

“I think it’s so romantic ...” Rizavi said, “I wish my one true love would surprise me with a visit. I heard that Curtis could only stay a few hours! Can you imagine being so in love that you cross half the galaxy just to spend a few hours together?”

Rizavi sighed dreamily over her lunch and Keith gritted his teeth. Somehow—Keith glared at Acxa—the MFE pilots had discovered that Keith took his meals in the lower cafeteria. 

Keith liked to eat in the lower cafeteria for two reasons. One: he wasn’t going to run into Shiro here. Shiro, being the commander of Atlas, took his meals in the executive dining room in the upper cafeteria, or in his personal rooms. Keith found that it was very easy to be ‘friends’ with Shiro if they never saw each other. 

Secondly, it was quiet. Most people who ate in the lower cafeteria were coming off fourteen hour shifts in the hangar or in the engine room or in navigation. Either way, they were more concerned about eating and leaving, than socializing. 

That was, until the MFE pilots plonked down their trays next to Keith and Acxa in the lower cafeteria. 

“You have to have a one true love first, Rizavi,” Kinkade said and Rizavi threw a fork at him. A few crew members at other tables shot them dirty looks. 

“It’s not my fault that no one has yet recognized my brilliance,” Rizavi said with a flip of her hair. 

Griffin waved her off. “You didn’t hear it from me but—” he looked around conspiratorially, “It looks like there’s trouble in paradise.”

“What?!” Rizavi said, “No! Shiro and Curtis have been together for so long! I don’t believe it!”

“I overheard them arguing before we left Earth,” Griffin said, “Something about Shiro not being fully committed.”

Keith stifled his surprise. Well, that was new.

“It sounded like Curtis is ready for kids, but Shiro’s out here in space. So if you put two and two together …” Griffin continued.

Keith did the math in his head. Curtis wanted to start a family, and Shiro didn’t. So that equaled ... Shiro going into space? Keith wasn’t really sure how it all added up, or if Griffin even knew what he was talking about.

“Well, I’m sure that Shiro was happy to see Curtis on the station. I have reliable intel,” Rizavi said. Keith wondered who her source was. Hunk wasn’t prone to embellishing the truth like this, so it must have been someone in the line with them. 

“Keith was with Shiro on Vosgarian station,” Acxa added. “Why not ask him?”

All eyes turned to Keith—except Acxa who was looking at her food as she ate, and Leifsdottir who didn’t really look at anyone in the eyes.

“You were there? And you didn’t say anything?!” Rizavi was out of her seat now, her arms braced on the metal table. 

“Um,” Keith said, “I didn’t think it was any of my business.”

Kinkade nodded in agreement, but Griffin shook his head. 

“Okay, then you can set the record straight,” Griffin said, “Tell Rizavi that their love is on the rocks, that their marriage is a sham, that she is wrong—”

Keith held up his hands. “I don’t know anything about any of that.”

“But you saw them together!” Rizavi said, “What were they like together? Did they kiss? Did Shiro run into his arms??”

“No. Shiro was just … surprised to see him. Then they went one way and Hunk and I went another. It really wasn’t that exciting.”

“Surprised good?” Griffin asked, “Or surprised bad?”

“Well, I didn’t really see his face when he saw Curtis. I was walking behind him, and actually, I didn’t see him stop so I—“

“Obviously Keith doesn’t know anything, Griffin,” Rizavi interjected.

Rizavi didn’t know how right she was. Keith had tried to guess at what Shiro was feeling when they ran into Curtis, but he had spent almost no time around them as a couple. Were they usually publicly affectionate? Or more reserved? Keith didn’t really have a baseline to judge their interaction against.

Keith only knew how he and Shiro used to be together. Shiro was always so warm, so encouraging, so physical with his affection. Whether as students, friends, teammates, Shiro had an openness when it came to Keith that made Keith want to open up too.

“Keith,” someone said, “Keeeeeeith.” And then a fork crashed into his metal tray.

“Hey!” he said, wiping sauce off his uniform. “What’s that for?”

“You were asked a direct question, which you ignored. And then you had a … wistful look on your face. That’s when Rizavi threw her fork at you.”

“Thanks, Leifsdottir,” Keith said, feeling his cheeks heat up when she said “wistful”. Three sets of eyes stared at him expectantly. “What was the question again?”

Rizavi sighed. “I said, what was Shiro like after the meeting? Acxa said he met you and Hunk at the spa.”

That was the last time Keith told Acxa anything. Not that it was private information, but still. He glared at her, and she looked like she was holding back a smile.

“He was …” Keith started. What should he say? That Shiro didn’t want to talk about Curtis, that he wasn’t especially forthcoming, that his expression was so closed off even Keith didn’t know what he was thinking? It felt like going behind Shiro’s back to say any of that, like a breach of trust. 

So Keith settled on something simple: “He was fine.”

“Fine?!” Rizavi fell back onto the bench and groaned. “So much for insider information.”

“Come on, Rizavi,” Kinkade said, grabbing his tray and standing up. “It’s time for flight training. Gotta stay sharp.”

Griffin and Leifsdottir got up, followed reluctantly by Rizavi. “Okay okay, I’m moving.”

“Acxa, Keith, wanna join us on the sims?” Griffin offered. “Lowest score buys drinks for the highest score on the next station or planet.” 

Keith looked at Acxa and she cocked an eyebrow. “Okay, but if Acxa and I have the highest two scores, the rest of you owe us a drink—each.”

The MFE pilots exchanged looks back and forth, silently conferring over Keith’s proposal. Leifsdottir smiled at the other pilots and turned to Keith, determination written in the set of her mouth. “Okay, Let’s do this.”

* * *

Leifsdottir ended up posting the best score of the afternoon, but Keith and Acxa were a close second and third. Griffin trailed behind in last place, and his loss was marked on a messy, complicated chart Rizavi pulled out of her pocket. 

After logging their time in the computer, the MFE pilots split up to attend to other duties on the ship (Kinkade and Leifsdottir) or nap (Rizavi), and Acxa took off to file a report for the Blades. Griffin lingered behind, stopping Keith before he could walk away. 

“It’s good to see you, Keith,” Griffin said, “It’s been a while.”

“Been busy,” Keith said with a shrug.

Griffin rolled his eyes. “Sure you have. Don’t try to pull that with me. I’ve known you for fifteen years now—give or take a few years for some time travel. I know when you’re being cagey.”

Keith scoffed. “I’m not being cagey—I have been busy.” Keith crossed his arms over his chest before realizing how defensive that would look. He uncrossed his arms and tucked his hands into his pockets.

“Too busy to come to the celebrations and reunions—”

“Yes,” Keith said.

“—When Kolivan and Krolia, two of the busiest people in the galaxy can get away?”

Keith paused. 

“Look I’m not here to bust your chops. But I do know what it looks like when you self-sabotage. I was there for some prime examples of it. Like when you stole Shiro’s car”—Griffin started ticking off fingers on one hand—“or when you punched me, or when you punched Iverson, or when you …”

“Okay, I get it.” Keith covered Griffin’s hands to get him to stop counting. 

Griffin screwed up his face in exasperation. “We’ve never really been friends, Keith, but I really don’t want to watch you screw up your own life. Not when you don’t have to.”

“Thanks, James. It’s nice to see that you’re not a complete ass anymore,” Keith said.

Griffin flipped him off with a grin and Keith let one corner of his mouth tick up. They had come a long way from fighting in the Galaxy Garrison. 

“Before you go,” Griffin said as Keith started to leave, “There’s two more things about Shiro and Curtis you should probably know.” 

Keith’s heart hammered hard in his chest just at the mention of Shiro and Curtis, and his face started to feel hot.

“Oh yeah?” Keith asked, aiming for nonchalant. 

“I didn’t really want to say anything at the table, because you see how fanatical Rizavi is, and I didn’t want her to get mad at you.”

“Mad at me?”

“Yeah, I guess …” Griffin said, trailing off as he seemed to search for the right words. “Curtis doesn’t really like you. He said he felt like, as far as Shiro was concerned, he was always competing with you. Like, Shiro was always talking about you, saying things like ‘Keith would do this’ or ‘Keith was so good at that’.”

Keith couldn’t feel his extremities. Blood pounded in his ears and he knew his face was beet-red. “And what was the other thing?” Keith asked, his voice breaking traitorously.

Griffin glanced around quickly, before beckoning Keith closer. Keith took two big steps, and leaned in. “Curtis asked for a divorce.”


	8. Chapter 8

_A divorce._

Curtis asked for a divorce. Shiro and Curtis were getting _divorced_. 

Keith turned the idea over and over again in his mind. He tried to reason his way through it—Griffin didn’t know what he was talking about. After all, he could have misheard something, or not understood the context.

Though, if Shiro and Curtis were getting divorced, that would explain some of the weirdness Keith saw on Vosgarian Station. But it just as easily could have been Curtis trying to patch things up before Shiro got back. It really was impossible to say.

Keith hadn’t seen much of Shiro since the stop on Vosgarian Station—by design—but Keith had seen Shiro wearing his wedding ring during their conversation outside of the spa, as well as in a meeting a few quintants after Keith’s talk with Griffin. Shiro’s behavior didn’t give anything away either. He still maintained a polite but slightly distant demeanor with everyone on the ship, and his conduct during meetings, on the bridge, in the hallways, was the picture of professionalism. 

Keith finally broke down one night and asked Hunk if he knew anything. 

“Curtis hasn’t come to the last two reunions, but that’s all the info I have.” Hunk said as he sat down on his couch with two bowls of ice cream. He handed one to Keith, and Keith took it from him with both hands. Hunk looked a little like a dad in those holiday ads for products Keith never bought—a flannel robe thrown over his t-shirt and boxers—but Keith let himself enjoy the casual intimacy of it all.

Keith pulled his pajama-clad knees up to his chest on Hunk’s couch. “Shiro didn’t say why?”

Hunk shook his head no. “And you know Shiro—he’s so nice and friendly on the outside, but other than you, he’s probably the most private person I know.”

That was true. A person could probably spend years with Shiro and never know anything personal about him—Keith had seen it at the Garrison. Shiro’s classmates and coworkers never caught on to Shiro’s chronic illness, and his relationship with Adam was only known because Adam let that cat out of the bag.

But Shiro had told all of that and much more to Keith ...

Hunk took a bite of his homemade ice cream (made with no sugar and a cream-substitute) and looked thoughtful. “No, scratch that, he’s definitely more private that you are. You have the tendency to … wear your emotions on your sleeve.”

“Thanks Hunk.” Keith said, deadpan. He took a spoonful of his own ice cream. It was more … savory … than expected, but it was as close to ice cream as they were going to get out in space. 

“Are you still thinking about how weird they were being on Vosgarian Station?” Hunk asked.

“Sort of,” Keith replied. “I talked to Griffin the other day, and he said some things that made me believe Curtis and Shiro were on the rocks. And that Curtis doesn’t like me.”

“Oh yeah,” Hunk said, “Curtis was totally giving you the stink-eye.”

So it wasn’t just Keith’s imagination then. Did that mean that Curtis … was jealous? A little thrill shot through Keith at the thought. Keith, even gone for five years, was still a threat to Curtis. It sounded more and more like Griffin had known what he was talking about. Keith burned with the need to know what Shiro had said about him. 

Then that little thrill died. Keith knew what it was like to feel insecure like that, to wonder what Shiro was feeling and thinking, if he loved someone else. Hunk was right—Shiro gave very little away for free. It must have eaten at Curtis—must’ve eaten at Adam. It ate at Keith. 

And even if Griffin was right, even if Curtis and Shiro were getting a divorce, that didn’t mean Shiro would suddenly realize his secret love for Keith. It wasn’t like Shiro was in the dark about Keith’s feelings before he started dating Curtis, and he still didn’t pick Keith. Best for Keith not to get his hopes up.

“Hey Hunk,” Keith said after finishing his ice cream, “What do you think is next for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, are you going to be a Representative for the rest of your life? Or do something else?”

“I think I’d like to start a cooking school,” Hunk said.

“Really?” Keith tucked his legs under him and turned toward Hunk, “I think that would be great. Would you let me in?”

“You? No,” Hunk said, deadly serious. “You’d burn down my school.”

Hunk’s seriousness melted away into a smile, and Keith smiled too. “Okay okay, no cooking school for me.”

Keith tugged absently at a loose string on the hem of his pajama pants. He wasn’t only curious about Hunk’s professional plans. He’d been thinking so much about marriage lately … 

“Do you think you’ll get married, have kids ... you know, all that stuff?” Keith asked.

“I don’t know,” Hunk laughed, “I think I need to meet someone first.”

“Shouldn’t be hard with all this traveling.”

Hunk’s laugh turned into a mischievous smile. “Let’s hope so. I haven’t been on a date in a while, and …”

“Okay!” Keith interrupted, his face warming uncomfortably, “I get it! Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

Hunk laughed, the full-body kind that made Hunk’s shoulders shake. It was infectious, and Keith laughed too, a small chuckle at his embarrassment.

“What about you, Keith? Do you think you’ll do … all that stuff?”

“Probably not,” Keith said, pulling at the loose string again, “I don’t think I’m cut out for it. Maybe I’m not made of the right stuff.”

Hunk frowned and nudged Keith’s knee with the back of his hand, still holding his spoon. “Stop being so melancholy. This is even worse than usual.”

“I’m not! At least, I don’t mean to be,” Keith said, “You and Lance and Pidge and Allura were all so lucky. You all had two parents, some siblings maybe. You grew up in loving households and you all loved each other—love each other.”

Hunk put his ice cream bowl down, and looked at Keith, his face asking a question.

“My mom … left and my dad died, and then it was just me. I lived in foster homes and group homes and eventually the Garrison, but I’ve never had a good model of what a loving, happy relationship looks like. And Shiro is ...”

Keith paused. He didn’t want to give away information that was not his to give. Shiro was private—Hunk had been right about that—and Keith didn’t want to betray Shiro’s trust.

Keith settled on fleshing out what was in Shiro’s official biography. “His parents died when he was young, and then he went to live with his grandparents. It … wasn’t a very supportive relationship—they were strict, and expected so much from Shiro.”

“I didn’t know about that,” Hunk said quietly.

“He doesn’t talk about it,” Keith said, “But I think it means me and him—we’re not meant for the kind of life that includes all that stuff. Maybe we’re too … independent.” 

_Maybe we’re too broken._

Hunk put a hand on Keith’s forearm, and his thumb rubbed a small circle. 

“I think,” Hunk said, speaking slowly, “If you don’t want to get married, or even be in a romantic relationship, because that’s the most authentic version of yourself, that’s okay—I’ll support you.”

Hunk looked down at where his hand met Keith’s arm. He gave Keith’s arm a squeeze before his eyes snapped up and met Keith’s. There was so much in Hunk’s gaze—frustration, determination, love. Hunk didn’t hide anything from Keith, and it was terrifying. This—the hand on Keith’s arm and the look in Hunk’s eyes—was somehow more intimate than the hugs they’d shared.

“But if you’re avoiding love because you think you don’t deserve it, or you weren’t brought up for it, or you’re not made right, then I gotta say I think you’re wrong. If you put love out in the world, it’s gonna be returned. But if you don’t trust anyone and you’ve always got one foot out the door, then it’s gonna be a lot harder. And I know that trust is hard for you, Keith—harder than it is for me—but if you don’t trust anyone, no one’s going to trust you.”

“Hunk …” Keith said. He didn’t know what to say next. He felt hollowed out by Hunk’s words, but also, there was understanding. Keith hadn’t felt understood by anyone since … Shiro.

“Keith, I don’t think you’re broken, and—“

Hunk’s comm started beeping. He picked it up and pressed accept. 

“Go for Hunk,” Hunk said as a small holographic bust of Shiro appeared, “Oh, and Keith’s here too”

“Oh? That’s …” Shiro looked between them quickly, his eyes settling for a tick too long on where Hunk’s hand rested on Keith’s arm. Keith pulled his arm away and tucked it under his other arm, crossing his arms across his chest.

Shiro shifted into his usual professionalism. “I can tell you both at the same time, then. Our meeting tomorrow morning has been canceled.”

Keith let out a sigh of relief. Maybe he’d get _one_ morning to sleep in.

“IT has pulled off everything it can from the drive Keith brought us, and requested a few days to sort through the data before providing a report,” Shiro continued, “But there are some gaps in the data, and we were hoping that Keith could address them tomorrow morning in Navigation.”

Keith stretched his arms up and dropped his head on the back of the couch. _Well, so much for sleeping in._

“Okay, I’ll be there,” Keith said. Not like he had much of a choice.

When Keith looked up, he expected Shiro to sign off and leave, but instead he seemed to be staring at Keith. Keith looked down at his chest and saw that his t-shirt had ridden up a few inches, exposing a small sliver of skin on his belly. Keith quickly pulled his shirt down. How unprofessional.

“Have a nice night,” Shiro said, his face pained, “See you at 0800, Keith.” And then he disconnected.

After a few moments of silence, Hunk asked, “So he was being weird right? I wasn’t seeing things was I?”

Keith shook his head. Shiro _was_ being weird. 

“You know why?”

Keith shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Hunk took a bit of ice cream and left the spoon resting in his mouth. He had a thoughtful expression, like he was trying to put the pieces together but had pieces from two different puzzles. “Maybe he’s jealous of the time we’re spending together.”

Keith snorted. “ _Sure_.”

“I’m serious, Keith,” Hunk said, “You used to go to Shiro to talk about all of your feelings, and now you’re coming to me. I might be a little upset if I were in his place.”

Keith shook his head. “It’s not like that. It hasn’t been like that in a very, very long time.” 

Hunk gave Keith a searching look and Keith stared down at his ice cream. He didn’t know what Hunk was looking for, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for him. 

It wasn’t too long until Shiro was forgotten. Hunk was good at finding a less fraught topic of conversation—probably the main reason why he got the Coalition job. And so Keith stayed as long as he could, trying to avoid his anxiety about the morning meeting with just Shiro. But he had to wander back to his bunk eventually, setting his alarm and hoping, at the very least, the meeting was quick. 


	9. Chapter 9

Keith ran down the main corridor on the Alpha Deck to Navigation, barely avoiding a collision with a junior officer carrying a stack of boxes. He checked his watch again, as if looking at it would change the fact that he was nearly half a varga late to his meeting in navigation. 

He’d set the small alarm in his bunk the same way he had every night since arriving, but it hadn’t gone off. If all of the damn meetings over the past few movements hadn’t trained him to wake up early every morning, he’d probably still be asleep. 

Keith stopped just before he reached the door to Navigation to catch his breath, as a few curious glances were leveled at him from a pair of crew members leaving the room. Keith looked in through the long window in the wall between the hallway and Navigation—there was Shiro in his captain’s whites, refreshed and ready for their meeting. Unlike Keith, who was more than a little sweaty and definitely not prepared for whatever Shiro wanted to talk about.

No point in dragging it out any longer than necessary.

Keith pushed back his (slightly damp) bangs from his head and walked into Navigation. Like the bridge, Navigation had a few rows of stations with bright-eyed and eager young officers intently looking at orange screens, and a large window looking out into space. But instead of a platform for the captain to stand on, there was a large, circular holoprojector showing a star chart of their surrounding space. 

Shiro stood next to the holoprojector with the same officer from the first meeting, an older human woman with streaks of white in her dark grey hair. She used a keyboard to manipulate the chart, and showed Shiro the space around the teludav they were traveling to.

“Shiro,” Keith said, approaching the holoprojector. Keith noticed a sight uptick of the woman’s eyebrows at the nickname. “I mean, Captain Shirogane.”

“Keith,” Shiro said, frowning.

“Sorry I’m late—alarm didn’t go off.”

Shiro nodded and turned to the officer next to him. “Lieutenant Somby, could you pull up the chart with known Separatists cells.”

The officer quickly typed something on her keyboard, and within ticks, a new star chart was projected. Several locations were marked with the Separatists insignia—a purple, simplified silhouette of Zarkon’s Central Command System. Shiro pointed to one symbol, darker than the rest, over Delta Station.

“The Galactic Coalition made it to Delta Station only a few quintants after you were extracted, but finding that you were a mole clearly spooked them, and they were long gone,” Shiro said.

“I’m not surprised,” Keith said, “The Separatists have worked in the shadows so far, finding pockets of dissatisfied Galra in the Diaspora and swaying sympathetic system leaders. It wouldn’t help them to make a stand against the Coalition now.”

“What about these other locations?” Shiro asked, sweeping his arm across the chart, “If we send people to look into them, will we find anyone there?”

Keith looked at the locations indicated on the map closely. This is probably what Shiro had meant by “gaps” in the data. The individual cells of the Separatists didn’t know much about each other. That way, the Coalition couldn’t find them all just by taking one cell down. So, Keith doubted that this chart came from the data he pulled off of the Delta Station Separatists’ computer—it was more likely something cobbled together from Coalition and Marmoran intelligence.

Keith pointed to three symbols, all near permanent wormholes that lead directly to the Galactic Hub. “As I mentioned in my report, all three of these are inactive. I intercepted a communication—they want to move their sphere of influence away from the established Coalition planets.”

“To stop planets and systems from joining rather than influencing current Coalition members,” Shiro said, “Then it makes sense they’d turn their attention to Joraq.” Shiro nodded to Lieutenant Somby and the three symbols nearly disappeared from the chart.

Keith looked around the rest of the chart, but couldn’t find a marker where he expected it to be. Keith pointed to an area of seemingly open space. “While I was on Delta Station, we had a visit from someone from an outpost here.”

“There’s nothing there,” Somby said.

“Exactly. At least, that’s what they want you to think. This spot is where you’ll find a dwarf planet from the Bgge system near aphelion. It has a high orbital eccentricity and it’s at the edge of their system so the Bgge system doesn’t count it as a planet or put it on their charts.”

Shiro frowned at the chart. “How far is the Bgge system from Joraq?”

Lieutenant Somby typed something on her keyboard and brought up a route from the dwarf planet to Joraq. “Without wormhole travel, it would take a small transport about two movements to fly from the dwarf planet’s current location to Joraq.”

That’s a lot closer than Keith thought it was. 

“Would you like me to chart a course to this dwarf planet?” Lieutenant Somby asked.

Shiro shook his head. “No, we’re on a diplomatic mission. Send the information to Kolivan—he can send someone to check it out.”

Somby nodded and began typing up a message to the Blades. While she was working, Shiro turned to Keith. “And the rest? Are they accurate?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, they’re pretty decentralized. I only know about those four because I got lucky with my intel. I’m surprised you didn’t have all of this information already. I made a report for the Blades almost two movements ago.”

“There are still some ... uh ... _kinks_ to be worked out with information sharing,” Shiro said.

Keith held back a scoff. Of course Kolivan, lifelong spy, wasn’t great about passing on information. “I‘ll talk to Acxa and see if there are any rules about sending my report directly to Atlas. Then at least you’ll be as caught up as I am.”

“We’d appreciate that,” Shiro said, his shoulders slumping in relief.

“Okay, if you don’t need anything else from me, Hunk promised me pancakes and he said he has real flour stashed away somewhere.”

Shiro froze for an instant, obviously caught off guard, before a mask of politeness slipped over his face. “No, nothing more. You can go.”

Keith hesitated. Something he’d said clearly upset Shiro. Should he stay and figure out what it was? Or should he bolt? Because now that their business was done it was getting harder and harder to resist finding out if Shiro still smelled the same.

But then he spotted Lieutenant Somby giving Keith that same quirk of an eyebrow from earlier, and Keith _did not_ want to have any kind of personal conversation within her earshot. She was too perceptive and obviously didn’t give any fucks about hiding her interest.

So Keith nodded at Shiro and went out of the door without another word. He almost made it back to the main artery of the ship when Shiro shouted, “Wait!” 

Could Keith pretend he hadn’t heard him? There wasn’t really anyone else in the hallway, so probably not. Keith turned around in time to see him jogging to close the distance between them.

“Can we talk?” Shiro said.

“Here?”

Shiro hooked his thumb toward a door a few yards back behind him, its long window showing the room to be empty. “In there?”

Keith looked at the door and looked back at Shiro, his excuse that Hunk was waiting for him on his lips. But Shiro beat him to the punch. “I know things aren’t completely back to normal and I know you’re trying to think of an excuse, but I promise I won’t keep you long.”

Keith noisily pushed out a lungful of air through his lips. “Okay, lead the way.”

Shiro led them into a small break room for this section of the ship. Once they were both inside, the door automatically shut behind them with a soft rustle. Shiro stood just inside the door, blocking Keith’s only exit. Keith wondered if Shiro’s positioning was intentional.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, but there hasn’t really been time since Vosgarian ...” Two spots of color appeared on Shiro’s cheeks as he twisted his hands together and focused on a spot somewhere over Keith’s shoulder. “Are you and Hunk … I mean it looked like—when I called last night—and at the spa ...”

Shiro trailed off and Keith frowned. The last topic of conversation Keith expected was _Hunk_. 

Shiro closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, seeming to center himself. He looked at Keith for the first time since they’d walked in the room. “Are you and Hunk _together_?”

“What?” Keith asked, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Like, are you _seeing_ Hunk?” Shiro clarified, a pained look on his face, “ _Romantically._ ”

Keith gasped and then choked on his own spit. “ _No_ ,” he said between coughs.

Shiro looked unconvinced. “Oh, okay. It just seemed like you and he … you’ve been pretty close these past few movements.”

Bent over, hands on his knees and coughing, Keith twisted his head to look up at Shiro. Keith searched Shiro’s face for any signs of a joke or prank, but Shiro’s expression was somewhere between embarrassed and annoyed. 

Keith stood up to his full height as soon as his breathing was under control. “We’re _friends_ ,” Keith said, “Why does it matter?” He wanted to sound disinterested, but the question came out more defensive than he’d intended.

“It doesn’t,” Shiro said with a too casual shrug, “I just was curious.”

“Would it bother you?” Keith didn’t know where that question came from but he wanted to take it back as soon as it was out.

Shiro balked, and then composed himself again. “No, of course not. Date whoever you want, don’t date whoever you want, I don’t care.”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Keith pointed out.

Shiro dropped his metal arm to his side and it clanged against the door. He tried to keep his face in check, but his frustration was written in the clench of his jaw. “I just thought if we’re friends again that friends talk to each other about this kind of thing.”

“There is no ‘this kind of thing’! I’m not dating anyone!” 

Shiro took a long breath in through his nose, his mouth set in a tight line. “Sorry, I”—he bit his lip and looked away, absently twisting his wedding band around and around. 

Keith watched the motion of Shiro’s fingers on his ring, obviously a nervous habit picked up over the last five years. Watching Shiro touch his ring, so casually and without conscious thought, set something off in Keith.

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on with Curtis?”

Shiro’s eyes snapped to Keith’s. “It’s none of your business.”

“Ah ha,” Keith said, “So there is something going on.”

“He’s fine. I’m fine,” Shiro said, “We’re _fine_.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

Shiro balled and uncurled his fists twice. He seemed to consider what to say before deciding on, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The gremlin in Keith’s mind that always indulged his worst impulses didn’t like that answer. “I thought you wanted to talk. You asked me to talk to you. If not, I’ll just be leaving.”

Keith pushed past Shiro to get to the door, putting him close enough to hear Shiro mumble, “Go ahead, Keith. Leaving is what you do best.”

Keith froze and looked at Shiro, his mouth dropped open. How could he say that? 

Shiro’s face immediately switched from annoyed to remorseful. “Keith, I’m sorry,” he said.

Keith shook his head and opened the door to a hallway full of crew desperately trying to act like they hadn’t been watching the fight through the lounge window.

_Of fucking course._

“Keith, wait,” Shiro said, pushing out into the hallway. But Keith didn’t listen to Shiro’s protests—he kept his head forward and walked away. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise update! I’m posting a chapter today and then the last chapter of the first third of the story on Thursday. Then I’ll take a week off to prep the next third! Enjoy!

Keith stewed in his anger for hours. He skipped breakfast with Hunk—he wouldn’t’ve been good company anyway—and just grabbed a few protein bars from the commissary to get him through the day. He went for a jog in Atlas’ gym, watching several runners come and go while he kept running and running. Eventually, he stomped around his sleeping quarters, scaring off a few newly minted junior officers flirting in the lounge. He made tea— _tea_ of all things!—and tried to calm himself down. He closed his eyes. He breathed. Deep inhales followed by long, noisy exhales. 

But the angry voice in his head wouldn’t shut up. 

_How dare Shiro—how_ dare _he._

 _It’s not fair_. 

_We’re not friends. Shiro has no fucking right_.

Keith gripped his metal tumbler so tight that he left indentations. So, he gave up on tea.

He tried meditation instead. He got comfy, which for Keith was taking off his pants and lying in his bunk, and focused on the techniques he’d used as Paladin of Voltron, looking for that quiet, blank place in his mind. But every time he got close, his last conversation with Shiro would creep back in and he would think of all the things he’d wished he’d said to Shiro and all the things he wanted to say the next time they were alone together.

Keith finally pushed Shiro out of his mind long enough to get to that empty space in his head—the one where he could relax and not worry about Shiro anymore—and that’s when someone decided to knock on his bunk’s door.

Keith growled, frustrated at being interrupted just as he was _finally_ getting into the right headspace. Whoever it was could fuck right off. 

Keith closed his eyes again and tried to sink back into a meditative state ...

“Keith,” a voice whispered, “Keith, come on.”

Keith rolled over and pushed up the door. Shiro was tall enough that his head and shoulders were visible, and Keith could see that Shiro was out of uniform. He wore a black hoodie over a white shirt and it was unfair that he looked so good when Keith was so mad at him.

“What are you doing here?” Keith asked.

“Shh,” Shiro whispered, “I’m technically not supposed to be here. Come on, let’s go.”

“I think I’d rather not,” Keith said and started to pull down the door. 

Shiro reached up to grab the door, stopping it from rolling down. “Keith, I’m sorry about … everything I said. It wasn’t fair.”—Keith’s breath hitched—“If you get out of there and come with me, I promise I will answer any questions you have … within reason.”

Keith sighed. It was a tempting offer—as mad as he was with Shiro, he still had so many questions. But it also meant he’d have to talk to Shiro again, and Keith still felt raw from their last conversation. Since getting to Atlas, every time Shiro wanted to talk to Keith, it made things a little bit worse, a little bit harder, and a little bit more painful. 

“Fine, fine,” Keith said, “Give me a moment to put on pants, okay?” No one said Keith wasn’t self-destructive.

Shiro turned around, but Keith thought he caught a blush on Shiro’s face, even in the dim light. Keith wrestled a pair of jeans on over his underwear, before jumping down from his bunk.

“Okay,” Keith said as he straightened out his black t-shirt, “where do you want to go?”

Shiro put his finger to his lips and motioned for Keith to follow him. They were silent as they left the sleeping room, and didn’t talk again until Shiro had to ask Keith to step into Shiro’s private rooms. 

Shiro locked the automatic door behind Keith, and walked over to a small compartment with a few personal items. Shiro pulled out a bottle of some dark liquid, likely alcohol and definitely contraband for anyone but the captain of the IGF-Atlas, and poured some into two wine glasses. He handed one to Keith and then walked over to an enormous window to the stars. 

Shiro slipped off his hoodie and threw it on the floor, and Keith wished he’d stayed in bed, rather than accept an invitation to Shiro’s personal, private, isolated rooms. Especially since Shiro looked so relaxed in this environment, so casual, so _good_. It was decadent—the view, the glasses, the alcohol, Shiro’s bare neck and shoulders in the starlight. Keith felt like he was intruding.

And he was mad at himself that he felt this way. That he let Shiro pull him out of bed and into his rooms, that that was all it took for Keith to be back right to that stupid place where he started. _How pathetic_. 

So he waited, rooted to the spot where Shiro’d left him, and watched Shiro. The set of Shiro’s shoulders told Keith more than Shiro’s face ever had—Shiro was tense, but he was trying to hide it. 

“Keith,” Shiro finally said, “I’m divorced.”

Keith caught Shiro’s reflection in the glass, and he could tell how much that admission cost Shiro. Shiro’s expression was apprehensive, waiting for Keith’s reaction with dread. 

“Oh,” Keith said softly. He didn’t feel relieved, but he also didn’t feel bad for Shiro. He didn’t feel much of anything. It was like … he was someone else watching over his shoulder from far, far away. 

“Or I will be soon,” Shiro clarified, “Curtis came up to Vosgarian Station to have me sign the final paperwork. We’ve been separated since Atlas took off from Earth, but he’s met someone and wants to get … _this_ behind him.”

Keith thought about offering sympathy or condolences, but was afraid it would come off as insincere. There was still so much anger and frustration boiling just under the surface. He chose to ask a question instead: “What happened?”

Shiro turned around and leaned on the window. He tucked his left arm behind his back, and looked up at the ceiling. “After we got married, we both worked for the Garrison, and it was good for about two years,” Shiro said, robotic and straightforward, like he was giving a report to a superior officer. “Then the Garrison started asking me to come back on the IGF-Atlas project. I refused the first few times, but I eventually agreed to resume work on the project.”

Keith could guess what had happened, fill in the gaping holes Shiro left in his story. Shiro missed the kind of work the Coalition was doing, missed being on a ship, missed the stars. He’d been able to resist at first, because he had a husband at home. But that pull Shiro’d always felt was too great, and Shiro had given in. 

Shiro continued. “I kept it a secret from Curtis for a while. I knew he was against the idea of me going back into space. It was about this time that he was talking about having kids, and I—”

Shiro looked at Keith, the full force of his gaze hitting Keith like a Galra fighter plane. It was too much—too many emotions, too many years between them, too many things unsaid. 

“It turns out that I’m sort of bonded through Altean magic with Atlas. Atlas will allow another captain for a while, but she wants me.”

Keith felt a rumble under his feet, like an acknowledgment of what Shiro’d divulged. Keith shivered, and he had the feeling that a very large and very sentient machine was watching and listening. Keith wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a very bad thing.

“So what does that mean when you want to retire for good? Or when you … die?”

Shiro shrugged with his whole body. “I have no idea. The Garrison’s trying to figure that out. So, for now, I’m the only person who can captain the Atlas.”

Keith nodded. “And Curtis didn’t take that news well, I’m guessing.”

“Yeah, that and the fact that I’d been hiding my work with the Garrison and Atlas for the better part of a year while he was debating the merits of adoption versus a surrogate,” Shiro said, a touch of playful irony in his voice. 

Keith raised his eyebrows. Such a sore spot—something that had killed Shiro’s relationship—and Shiro was making jokes about it. It must’ve been _so_ painful.

“He gave me an ultimatum—him or space—and if I chose space, the relationship was over.”

“That sounds familiar,” Keith said. 

Shiro nodded in agreement. “It was—unsettlingly so.” Shiro took a long drink from his glass, emptying it, before setting it down on the counter of his kitchenette.

Keith took a long drink from his glass too. He’d forgotten about his drink (he guessed it was some kind of wine?) during their conversation. The alcohol burned as he drank it too quickly—Keith had the Galra tolerance for alcohol, but an entirely human palate. The burn was much worse than expected. He grimaced. He took another drink.

Shiro watched Keith drink, an intense and unguarded gaze that consumed Keith, before walking back over to the bottle to refill his glass. He closed the distance between himself and Keith, before topping of Keith’s glass still clutched in Keith’s hands. “Why do you still wear the ring?” Keith asked as Shiro poured, “If it’s over, why not take it off?”

Shiro laughed darkly—the sound made the hair on Keith’s arms stand on end. “Are you kidding me? If I took off my ring, I’d have half of the ship consoling me and the other half pestering me for details.”

Keith knew exactly what Shiro was talking about. The ship was a filthy den of gossips, and Shiro was their favorite topic of conversation. “That’s smart.”

Shiro migrated back to the window, his back to Keith again. Shiro fidgeted with his ring again, this time more aware of his thumb turning the gold band around his finger, before taking it off and putting it in his pocket. 

Fear pooled in Keith’s abdomen. This Shiro—ringless, divorced Shiro—was dangerous. Keith didn’t have Shiro’s marriage to enforce a safe distance. Keith didn’t have the certainty of Shiro’s love for someone else. 

“Come join me,” Shiro said, beckoning Keith over to the window, “Ask me more of your questions.” 

Keith wanted to stay back, to stay safe. He searched for that anger and frustration that had boiled up in him since the morning, but his emotions had unexpectedly cooled. Keith walked slowly to Shiro’s right side, but kept his eyes firmly on the stars outside. This close, Keith could tell they were almost the same height now. This close, he could feel the warmth of Shiro’s body and the thrum of energy that still crackled between them. 

“Why didn’t you want to tell me?” Keith asked quietly to the stars. Keith’s watched Shiro’s face change in the reflection of the window, a small ironic grin forming on his lips. 

“I was afraid of that one,” Shiro said in almost a whisper. He turned to Keith, grin gone, and Keith felt his gaze pulled like a magnet to Shiro’s. “I didn’t want to hear you say you told me so. You said we rushed into marriage, and you were absolutely right.”

“Oh,” Keith said, “I wouldn’t have …”

Keith bit his lip. He didn’t want to lie, but he wasn’t sure that was the truth. After all, he had told Shiro not to get married—if not in those words. Maybe if they still had been arguing, Keith would have played that card. But … not here.

Shiro sipped silently on his drink, his gaze again focused millions of miles away. Keith traced the sharp lines of Shiro’s profile with his eyes. When Keith was younger, he’d loved looking at Shiro in profile. It meant they were looking in the same direction and doing something together, shoulder to shoulder. It was them against the cruel world, the only comfort in Keith’s life for years. 

Then, for a while, looking at Shiro in profile had been painful—knowing that Shiro was looking at someone else and not Keith. The last time they’d stood like this, the last time Keith looked at Shiro in profile, had been Shiro’s wedding day …

“Can I ask one more question?”

“Go ahead,” Shiro said, still light years away.

Keith screwed up his courage. “Did you love him?” He didn’t want to know the answer, but the uncertainty gnawed at Keith. He had to know.

Shiro smirked into his glass. “You don’t have any easier questions?”

“I didn’t think it was a hard question,” Keith said, and he meant it. 

Shiro sighed. “Yes, I loved him.”

“Oh,” Keith said.

“And, if I’m completely honest, the sex was fantastic.” Shiro’s smirk widened into a suggestive grin as he watched Keith out of the corner of his eye, waiting for Keith’s reaction. Keith didn’t disappoint—he could see the flush of his own cheeks in the window. 

Shiro turned so that his left shoulder rested on the window. His full attention was on Keith now. “But I fell out of love with him pretty quickly, and I think it was the same for him too. We spent less and less time together, and I started making plans just so I didn’t have to go home to him. I should have known that the writing was on the wall, but when he asked for a divorce, it did surprise me.”

Keith took a gulp of wine just to have something to do with his hands, with his face. He drank too much and coughed, and Shiro laughed—a small, private thing that made Keith’s heart do somersaults.

“I’ve never been really good at this relationship thing,” Shiro admitted softly, “Maybe I’m not relationship material.”

Keith was surprised to hear his own insecurities come out of Shiro’s mouth. He wanted to comfort Shiro, maybe tell him he hadn’t tried with the right person, but he was afraid Shiro would ask who the right person was. And Keith was not prepared to give him an answer.

Keith had to change the subject. They were wading into dangerous waters. “Lieutenant Rizavi’s gonna be crushed. She’s very invested in you and Curtis and your relationship,” Keith said.

Shiro sighed and his breath tickled the wisps of hair around Keith’s face. “I’m sorry to disappoint her,” Shiro said, his voice low and soft.

Energy cracked between them—different from anger and frustration and annoyance of their last few conversations. The air was charged with _potential_ , and all one of them had to do was move closer ...

Keith took a step back.

Following Keith’s lead, Shiro took his own step away, a frown flickering over his face as he moved. Keith didn’t know how to interpret that frown. But he didn’t have to think about it long because Shiro replaced it quickly with a forced smile as he guided Keith to the couch. “Come on, Keith,” he said, “Let’s sit down and catch up.”


	11. Chapter 11

Keith tucked his feet under himself on Shiro’s semi-circular couch and watched Shiro sleep. Shiro had drifted off in the middle of a story about one of Keith’s missions, head in his hand propped up on the back of his couch. Shiro’s face was calm in sleep, unguarded in a way so few saw him. It was easy for Shiro to trick people into thinking he was an open book when they only saw the friendly, professional front. They never saw him like this, dozing on his couch, glass precariously dangling from Shiro’s prosthetic arm, all vulnerable and soft.

Keith ached, his heart a heavy stone in his chest. He missed this Shiro—the Shiro who took Keith out to race in the desert, who promised to never give up on him, who taught him patience and focus…

The sound of breaking glass startled Keith. Keith sprung up from the couch and looked around, and saw that Shiro had dropped his glass in his sleep.

“Shiro?” Keith said. Shiro groaned and his head dropped from his hand, but he still didn’t wake up. Keith pushed Shiro’s head back up and Keith felt a faint tremble under his hands. He looked at Shiro’s face, his eyes darting under his eyelids like he was dreaming. Something was wrong.

What the fuck was Keith supposed to do?

Keith gently put Shiro’s head down, balancing it on Shiro’s shoulder, before rummaging through Shiro’s things for his comms. He found the number for Medical and dialed.

_Come on come on come on._

“Medical Bay. This is Officer Eyn.” The voice was calm, soothing, and had no effect on Keith’s nerves.

“Hi,” Keith said, “There’s something wrong with Shiro—Captain Shirogane.”

“Who am I speaking to?” Eyn asked over the clacking of keys in the background.

“Keith—from the Blades of Marmora! I don’t really have time for procedure. Shiro’s passed out, and he won’t wake up.”

“I’m sending someone down right now,” Eyn said, “But while you wait, can you give me some more information?”

Keith growled. He pushed his bangs up and pulled on them in frustration. “What more do you need to know?! The captain is—”

And then the line cut out. It wasn’t like the operator had hung up on Keith—the device had power, but it wouldn’t connect to the communication system. He threw the comms on the ground, satisfied by the crunch and scrape of metal hitting metal. He walked to the door, planning on opening it and flagging down whoever was near to help Shiro, but the door remained firmly shut.

A tendril of panic grabbed hold of Keith. They were trapped.

He tried the door again, and just like the comms, it seemed to have stopped functioning. 

_Shit_. 

Keith turned back toward Shiro, and put one foot down to take him back toward the couch. When he tried to take a second step, he felt the familiar lurch of weightlessness in his gut as he began to float a few feet off the ground. The artificial gravity was out, and Keith had nothing to push off of, nothing to get him back to Shiro.

Shiro’s body hovered over the couch, his head lolled back and limp.

“Shiro!” Keith shouted as he watched Shiro’s limp body rise off the couch without the tether of artificial gravity. He tried again, “Shiro you need to wake up! Something’s wrong with Atlas!”

And then, without any warning, they were plunged into darkness.

It was dark everywhere, the kind of pitch black that had Keith wondering if was still on Atlas. All he could see was the faint starlight through Shiro’s window, and Keith hung in it, awakening the deep terror of being lost in space and the certain knowledge that death is imminent out in the uncaring void. He stretched out his legs, reaching for any surface, eyes squeezed shut to push away the stars. If he could just touch something, anything, he wouldn’t feel _so_ …

Keith crashed into the ground. His chin knocked against the floor, and light exploded behind Keith’s eyelids. He groaned as he pushed himself up to his knees, feeling the spot where his chin had met the floor. His fingers came away wet and he could feel a gash on his chin. Nausea replaced terror as he fought back the rise of the contents of his stomach.

“Shiro,” Keith said, croaking in the dark, “Are you okay?”

“...Keith?”

Keith’s heart leapt at the reply. He crawled on Shiro’s floor, trying to avoid obstacles, as he moved to the source of Shiro’s voice.

“Keith, what’s happening?”

“Shiro, don’t move,” Keith said, “Just stay wherever you are until I find you.”

Shiro said nothing and Keith started to crawl faster. Keith reached the couch just as the emergency lights turned on. The room was bathed in a violent red glow, and Keith spotted Shiro, only a few feet away.

Shiro laid crumpled on the floor, his upper body half on and half off the couch. He was unconscious again, and didn’t respond to Keith calling his name or shaking him. Alarms started to go off, their harsh ringing filling up Keith’s head. Shiro still didn’t wake. 

A hand touched Keith’s shoulder, and Keith acted on instinct. Before he could get himself completely turned around, he wrenched back the first two fingers on the hand on his shoulder. He barely heard the cry of medic over the alarm. 

Keith dropped the medic’s hand. “Sorry!” Keith shouted, his voice swallowed up by the alarm.

The medic tested each of his three long fingers—no breaks—before giving Keith a thumbs up. He moved over to Shiro, opening a small bag and checking Shiro’s vitals. Keith didn’t know what to do with himself. The alarm meant Keith, as non-essential personnel, was supposed to go to his designated emergency shelter and hunker down until whatever this was was resolved. But Keith couldn’t move—he couldn’t leave Shiro like this.

Keith looked over the medic’s shoulder as he pushed open one of Shiro’s eyelids. Shiro’s eye moved rapidly, erratically, faster than if it were just REM sleep. But that wasn’t what worried Keith—what worried Keith was Shiro’s iris, which glowed with the soft blue light Keith had associated with Atlas. 

_Was this … problem with Shiro the same thing that was wrong with Atlas?_

“Captain,” the medic said, his voice crystal clear now that the alarm was off, “Can you hear me?”

“Keith,” Shiro mumbled. The medic turned to look over his shoulder at Keith, and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m—” Keith coughed, “I’m Keith.” The medic’s eyes narrowed in unkind appraisal.

“Keith,” Shiro mumbled again, drawing attention back to his limp form. Shiro’s eyes were half-open now, unfocused and searching. “Remember, patience yields focus.”

“Does that mean anything to you?” the medic asked, not looking at Keith as he fitted a blood pressure cuff to Shiro’s wrist.

“It’s … something he said to me once,” Keith said, “A long time ago.” 

“Keith,” Shiro said again, and this time it sounded like a plea—breathy and high, the syllable of his name drawn out too long. The sound sent a jolt of electricity pinging through Keith’s body, before settling into a low crackle in his belly. He never wanted to hear Shiro say his name like that again. 

At least not with someone else in the room.

The medic put away his supplies and picked up his comms. As he stepped away from Shiro, Keith half-listened to the conversation—something about getting a stretcher to come pick up Shiro—but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He took up the medic’s position, squatting down next to Shiro.

“I’m here,” Keith said. He held his hand above Shiro’s, pausing for a moment that felt like an hour, before touching Shiro’s hand. Shiro tensed under him, every muscle coiling up. Keith took his hand away—or he tried to. Shiro surged up and grabbed his forearm, Shiro’s large hand gripping Keith like a vice.

“Shiro, what are you doing?” Keith tried to scramble away but Shiro held him firm. Shiro was up on his knees now, pushing Keith over, making Keith fall off the balls of his feet.

The medic rushed over and tried to get Shiro’s attention, but Shiro’s eyes, still glowing a soft blue, were fixed on Keith. The medic got back on his comms again, this time calling in security.

“Keith” Shiro said, his voice distant and cold. He didn’t sound like Shiro anymore—he sounded like …

Keith closed his eyes and he could see the clone facility. He felt a surge of adrenaline as Shiro—the clone—told him he had no intention of either of them leaving. He remembered the sharp crack of Shiro’s—the clone’s—fist as it connected to Keith’s jaw. 

Was Shiro going to hit him again?

“Shiro, please,” Keith said, “You know me.” Shiro’s grip impossibly tightened and Keith cried out. Could Shiro break his arm like this? Keith clawed at Shiro’s hand but Shiro didn’t even seem to notice Keith’s attempts to break free.

Shiro looked at him curiously. His body was almost entirely over Keith now, his right arm—his prosthetic arm—bracing his weight as he bore Keith down with his left hand still around Keith’s arm. “You need to stop.”

“Stop what?” Keith asked through gritted teeth. He tried not to focus on the pain, but then Shiro twisted his arm and Keith thought his elbow was going to break. He cried out in pain.

Shiro didn’t reply. The red glow of the room made Shiro’s features look more sinister, giving Shiro an expression that said he intended to rip Keith apart limb by limb. Shiro’s hand moved from Keith’s arm and up, his fingers just touching the delicate skin of Keith’s neck, when the alarm stopped mid-ring. Shiro looked up and around as dark red was replaced with the bright white normal operating lights, and then collapsed. 

Shiro fell onto Keith, his torso crashing into Keith’s abdomen and pelvis. Panic gripped Keith. He was trapped. Shiro was dead. He pushed at Shiro’s shoulders frantically, trying to escape out from under him. Shiro wasn’t usually this heavy, or maybe Keith had no strength left in him. His hands trembled on Shiro’s shoulders and his vision went blurry.

“Keith?” Shiro asked, his voice thick. He pushed himself up off Keith and looked around. “What happened?”

The medic stepped in, helping Shiro to sit down on the couch. Keith jammed his fists into his eyes, willing his body to calm down, to stop shaking, to … why were his fists wet?

The medic—no, someone else, someone else from Medical—put a hand on Keith’s elbow and led Keith to a spot on the couch next to Shiro. He shined his little light into Keith’s eyes, checked Keith’s pulse, put a butterfly bandage on Keith’s chin and looked a Keith’s arm, already starting to show signs of bruising, before taking out a silvery, crinkly blanket and wrapping it around Keith’s shoulders. 

“Sit here for a bit,” he said, a young Galra man with purple eyes that almost looked like Keith’s, “Then we’ll get you back to you bunk.”

_We_?

Keith looked over the man’s shoulder and saw a handful of other medical officers, prepping the stretcher to take Shiro away, and a team of security officers.

_Fuck_. Had all those people seen Shiro … attack Keith? And Keith’s freak out when Shiro collapsed on top of him? 

_Fuck fuck fuck._

“Keith,” Shiro said softly, pitched only so Keith could hear, “What happened?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Keith said, just as quietly.

“Did I—” Shiro looked at Keith’s arm. He fit his fingers to the finger-shaped bruises on Keith’s arm. He didn’t finish the question.

Before Shiro could say anything else, several officers from the bridge arrived to talk with Shiro as Shiro was loaded onto the stretcher. They walked with him as he was taken out of the room, the stretcher hovering at about waist height. The medical and security teams left as well, leaving Keith alone in Shiro’s room. Well, Keith and _Acxa_. 

“They asked me to take you back to your bunk,” she said. She looked Keith up and down and didn’t seem to like what she saw. Her mouth twisted into a frown as soon as her eyes landed on Keith’s arm. “Are you okay?”

Keith shrugged off the blanket and stood up. He wanted to say he was fine—the words formed in his mind—but when he went to speak, all that came out was, “No.”

Acxa nodded and put one arm around Keith’s shoulders. It was the most intimate touch they’d shared, outside of sparring, and though the gesture was unpracticed, it comforted Keith. He let her steer him out of Shiro’s room and back through the corridors to his bunk, only protesting a little when she helped him back into bed. 

Sleep came quickly after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the last chapter of what I’ve been thinking of as the first act, and the plot is finally catching up. :)
> 
> Next chapter will be up next Thursday!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kicking off the next third of the fic with two chapters! Enjoy!

Keith woke to pounding in his head. His arm and chin ached, and when he moved, the blood dried on his neck and torso cracked and pulled on his skin. He must’ve been asleep for hours but he felt like he’d barely slept at all, reliving whatever happened to Shiro over and over in his dreams. 

Shiro’s grip on Keith’s arm lingered like a phantom pain, and Keith tried to tell himself that it hadn’t been the _real_ Shiro. But whatever it had attacked him had done it with Shiro’s face—just like at the clone facility. Keith ran his fingers over the scar on his face, feeling the smooth texture of it in contrast to his morning stubble. 

He wondered if the cut on his chin would leave a scar, too.

The pounding in Keith’s head turned into pounding on his door. He rolled to his side and pushed up the door, feeling a tinge of déjà vu. A junior officer stood outside of Keith’s bunk, looking a little disheveled and sleep deprived. 

“Keith,” the officer whispered, “Your presence is requested in the conference room ASAP.” There was a name patch on his uniform—Konidela S.—and the insignia for bridge crew, and Keith wondered how he’d gotten the job of fetching Keith.

“Requested?” Keith whispered back.

The officer grimaced. “More like required.”

Keith nodded. The meeting had to be about last night. “Do I have time to shower?”

The officer looked down at his watch and grimaced again.

“Okay, just give me a few minutes to change my clothes.” Keith motioned for the officer to wait for him in the lounge while he made his way to the locker room. He grabbed another black t-shirt and took a short detour to the bathroom to at least wipe the dried blood off his neck. He changed as soon as he was cleaned up, and quickly rebraided his hair.

Keith met back up with the officer, who was nervously jiggling his leg, in the lounge. An unusually large number of people filled the lounge, as did an unusual anxious energy. Keith didn’t have time to ask anyone why there were more people in the lounge than Keith knew had bunks in this part of Atlas, because the officer who fetched him was quick to usher Keith out of the room.

Keith kept pace with the officer’s brisk walk—by now he could walk from his bunk to the conference room with his eyes closed—and looked around the empty corridors. No matter the time of day Atlas usually teemed with people, but they passed no one in the halls. 

The officer opened the door to the conference room, and the sounds of an argument fell out into the hall. Keith took a step back, surprised by the noise, before the officer gestured that Keith should enter first. Keith looked at him oddly; he didn’t outrank the officer anymore (not since Voltron) so there’s no reason he should get precedence. After a little further prodding, Keith entered the room, and all speaking halted the moment he entered.

Every senior officer on Atlas was in the conference room, bodies taking up every free inch in the large space. The MFE pilots were also there, standing along one wall, while Hunk, hair disheveled and wearing that silly robe, had a seat at the table. A few faces were on the big screen—Iverson with admiral stripes on his shoulders, and Sam Holt with a few other people Keith didn’t know. And everyone was looking at Keith. 

The junior officer who had escorted Keith to the conference room took his elbow and led him to a seat. Keith half fell into the chair, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of attention trained on him. He caught a sympathetic look from Hunk and a disapproving one from Rizavi, but everyone else looked at him curiously.

“Thank you for joining us, Keith,” a woman said at the front of the room, in the place Keith had expected to see Shiro. It was Veronica, and Shiro was nowhere to be found. She turned to the gathered audience and projected her voice. “As acting captain of the IGF-Atlas, I convene this meeting to discuss the attack on Atlas in the early hours of this morning.”

A rumble of surprise passed through the room at the word _attack_ but Veronica pushed on. “We will hear first-hand accounts of what happened, and decide on a course of action from there. First we have Junior Officer Konidela who will describe what happened on the bridge.”

Keith’s escort moved to the front of the room and took up position next to Veronica. “We first noticed a disturbance at 0126 Atlas time. One by one, we—that is, the bridge crew—were locked out of steering and navigation, then the intranet communication system, then a few other general electric systems. At 0131, the life support systems were breached, and artificial gravity was turned off. Following this, to avoid other life support systems being tampered with, the bridge crew decided to force an emergency shutdown of all systems, except for the backup power and life support. We rebooted the systems one by one, and all were functioning normal again. We believe this was the work of someone hacking into Atlas, though at this point we are unable to pinpoint the source of the hack.”

“So the reboot ... stopped the hack?” Keith asked, drawing the attention of the conference room again. He looked around nervously, expecting someone to call him out for speaking out of turn, but he got more curious looks instead. 

“We believe so,” the officer said, “We believe that the shut off kicked the hacker out of the system, and they did not re-engage when the system booted back up.”

A murmur of concern passed over the crowd. 

“Thank you Junior Officer Konidela,” Veronica said, shutting down the chatter from her officers and dismissing the man. He nodded his head to her and disappeared into the crowd. “Now we will hear from Keith.”

Keith started to pull himself out of his chair, following the lead set by Officer Konidela, but Veronica motioned for him to remain seated. Keith sat back down in his chair, and sent a silent thanks to Veronica. The more awake Keith was, the more he could feel his various reminders from the night before, and standing up had brought new pains in his ribs and hips to life. 

“Keith,” Veronica continues, “Officer Eyn said you might be able to fill in some gaps for us. We suspect that Captain Shirogane’s connection to Atlas made him vulnerable to this hack, and you were the only witness to the hack’s effects on him.”

Keith nodded and cleared his throat. “I can’t tell you when it started. Shiro and I—I mean Captain Shirogane and I—were just talking and we lost track of time. I honestly had no idea how late it had gotten, but Shiro was asleep when … things started to go wrong.” 

Eyebrows raised in Keith’s direction and Keith wished he could phase through the floor. Keith knew how it sounded—Keith stayed with a married man in his room long enough for that man to fall asleep. Keith was sure half the room was jumping to the same conclusion.

“I mean,” Keith clarified, “We were sitting on the couch and he just dozed off. I didn’t even think anything was wrong until he dropped his glass and the noise didn’t wake him up. That’s when I called medical. I just knew something was wrong—”

“How did you know something was wrong?” A voice from one of the seated officers cut in. Veronica gave them a sharp look and nodded at Keith to tell him to keep going.

“Um …” Keith said, his eyes darting between the officer who’d asked him a question and Veronica, “He just wasn’t …” Keith trailed off. How did he know that something was wrong with Shiro? Instinct? 

Veronica gave him another nod to continue, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “Anyway, I got through to Medical but then the comms went out, and then the other systems started to go, just like Officer Konidela said. Shiro, I mean, the Captain said my name several times while he appeared to be unconscious”—Keith hoped the rest of the room couldn’t see the heat spreading over his cheeks—“and he said something … um … meaningful before he sort of attacked me.”

Keith rubbed his hand over the bruises on his arm. “He told me I needed to stop—I don’t know what that means, to be honest—and I thought he was going to kill me but then he collapsed and I thought he was dead.”

The room stared at Keith, puzzlement on nearly every face in the room. “But then the lights came back on and he woke up and ... seemed to be himself after that.”

Keith went back through his testimony again in his head. He wanted to take back most of what he’d said; his recollections painted a much more … intimate picture of the night they’d had. He couldn’t end on that note.

“And his eyes—when I could see them—were glowing. Like, his pupils were that soft blue of his shoulder socket.”

“And of Atlas,” Veronica added. Keith nodded in agreement.

The room fell into a tense silence as the gathered officers considered the ramifications of what they’d just heard. Veronica turned toward the screen, looking up at Sam Holt.

“It certainly sounds like Shiro was affected by this possible hack,” Sam said, “I wonder if Shiro was hacked as well.”

“Is that even possible?” Iverson asked, incredulous.

Sam shook his head. “We still don’t fully understand Shiro’s connection with Atlas. It could be that Shiro just suffered some kind of”—Sam put his hand on his chin, looking for the right word—“psychic feedback from the attack on Atlas. But it could also be the case that the link between them would allow someone to … access Shiro.”

_Access Shiro? What did that mean?_

“It occurred to me when Keith said that Shiro didn’t seem to know who he was,” Sam continued, “The medic who first saw Shiro said that it sounded like someone else was talking _through_ Shiro. Of course this is all just a hypothesis right now.”

Grumbles filled the room, and officers shifted in their seats. Veronica raised her hands to quiet the group. She turned back to Sam. “In any case, tighter security measures are needed to rebuff any future attempts to breach our system.”

“Yes,” Sam agreed, “That’s why I’m sending Matt and Pidge to Atlas within the varga. They will reach your sector in about a quintant, though you will have to make a small detour to the Q’unel Teludav to rendezvous with them.”

_Matt? And Pidge?_

Veronica nodded before turning to Lieutenant Somby, seated on the opposite side of the table from Keith and several chairs down. “Set a course to the Q’unel Teludav. We need the quickest route possible, as we don’t want to lose too much time on our way to Joraq. You are dismissed.”

Somby rose from her chair and saluted Veronica. Her gaze lingered on Keith for too long to be incidental, one grey eyebrow arched, before leaving the conference room. A few junior officers followed her out the door. Keith recognized them; they were always down in the lower cafeteria when Keith ate lunch.

“The rest of you,” Veronica said, her voice heavy with authority, “Return to your positions and let your crew know what happened. This is not a secret—we were attacked, and we need to be prepared for next time. If you have questions or concerns”—she looked pointedly at a few of the officers seated at the table—“there will be time for that later. Right now, we get back to work. Dismissed.”

The room emptied out as Veronica said her goodbyes to the faces on the screen. Keith got up slowly, wincing as he moved. He looked up and Veronica met his eyes with a steely glare.

“And Keith,” she said, “Report to Medical. That’s an order.”


	13. Chapter 13

Keith left Medical with a small bottle of painkillers and strict orders to rest for at least three quintants. He resisted the urge to touch his chin where it had been glued back together as he set his feet toward Shiro’s room. Keith hoped he’d see Shiro in Medical, but Shiro had already been checked out and sent back to his own rooms long before Keith’s arrival.

Keith passed a few people in the halls—more than earlier but less than usual—and they all averted their eyes when they saw him. Keith must’ve really looked like shit.

So Keith kept his head down and let his muscle memory take him to the corridor with all of the big rooms for important people—he’d made enough trips to Hunk’s room that he didn’t really have to look at the signs anymore. 

“Keith,” a voice said as Keith turned toward Shiro’s room, “What are you doing here?” Lieutenant Rizavi leaned against Shiro’s door and gave him the same look as in the conference room—that piercing, disapproving glare. He could guess why she was here.

“I wanted to see if Shiro was okay,” Keith replied, “Since he wasn’t in the meeting this morning. But I guess he’s not here …”

“No, he’s not here,” she said. She looked at him pointedly, but Keith wasn’t sure what she was trying to tell him. Did she want him to go? Maybe he should go and try to find Shiro later.

“You know,” Rizavi said, “Helping someone cheat is just as bad as cheating.”

“Cheating?” Keith huffed indignantly, “Are you kidding me?” Shiro couldn’t cheat because he wasn’t in a relationship anymore, but Keith figured it wasn’t his place to tell Rizavi that.

“You were in Shiro’s room in the middle of the night, and may I remind you that he is a married man, Keith. It is inappropriate—”

“Inappropriate? We just talked.” Rizavi was starting to make Keith’s hackles rise. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and he didn’t care what Rizavi thought.

Rizavi rolled her eyes. “Sure you did.”

“We did. We talked and he dozed off and then everything went wrong. And our clothes stayed on the whole time.” 

Keith thought of Shiro peeling off his sweatshirt. _Well, most of our clothes stayed on._

Rizavi still glared at him, unconvinced, so Keith went for broke. “He doesn’t like me that way,” Keith said, his voice cracking. He wished he had been able to keep the desperation out of his voice.

Rizavi’s face changed for a moment—Keith had stunned her—but then it returned to a scowl. Her eyes were focused somewhere over Keith’s shoulder, and Keith turned around to see a surprised Shiro, still in his white tank and sweatpants from the night before, at the end of the hall. 

“Lieutenant,” Shiro said, nodding toward Rizavi. He walked toward his room, a little slower and more deliberate than his usual gait.

“Captain,” she replied icily. 

Shiro put a hand on the wall when he reached them, his wedding band back on his finger and exhaustion plain in the bags under his eyes. Had Shiro slept at all since Keith had seen him last? 

Rizavi looked back and forth between Keith and Shiro, before landing on Shiro. “So you two aren’t together.”

“We aren’t anything,” Keith said quickly, answering for Shiro. Keith caught Shiro tensing in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t want to look at Shiro—he didn’t want to try to decipher Shiro’s expression. 

Shiro coughed. “Would you mind excusing us, Nadia?” he asked politely but with evident pain. Keith wondered if Shiro used her first name to keep his request from sounding like an order.

She looked back and forth between them again, suspicion plain in the twist of her lip. She agreed anyway, and saluted at Shiro before leaving the two of them in the hall.

Shiro sighed again, a deep bone-weary thing, and opened the door to his room. Keith froze, unsure if he wanted to go in. His blood was still splattered on Shiro’s floor.

“Keith,” Shiro said, “Please.” And that was all it took. Keith followed Shiro in, and they both pointedly avoided the bloodstain. 

“I’m going to change,” Shiro said, pointing to his bedroom, “Feel free to get comfortable.” Keith watched Shiro go, and wondered where he could possibly “get comfortable”. The couch was an obvious no-go—last night was still too fresh—and the small booth in Shiro’s kitchenette was covered with boxes and miscellaneous junk. Keith could just see Shiro’s neatly made bed if he peered into the bedroom, but there was no way Keith would step in there. So that left Keith standing awkwardly in the middle of Shiro’s living area, wondering if there was any additional seating behind the door opposite the one to Shiro’s bedroom.

From his spot in the middle of the room, Keith heard the sound of Shiro’s shower, followed by the whoosh of the automatic door opening and closing. Shiro was naked—again—and he hadn’t even bothered closing his bedroom door. Keith felt hot all over. 

It was not the time to let his groin do the thinking; Keith was injured and Shiro was getting over some sort of psychic attack. But since Griffin had pulled him aside to share the divorce rumor, it had been harder and harder for Keith to stop his body’s reaction to Shiro. Or to stop the fragile bubble of hope expanding in his chest. 

He shook his head. He’d told Rizavi there was nothing between him and Shiro—that wasn’t a lie. Shiro didn’t think of him that way and had never thought of him that way. Keith had to push aside his attraction—God, he hated himself for still being attracted to Shiro—and just pray this whole mission was over soon. Then, his life would go back to normal. A life without Shiro.

“Keith,” Shiro said as he stepped out of the bedroom, a fresh pair of sweatpants slung low over his narrow hips and a towel thrown over his bare shoulders. “Can you help me reattach my arm?”—Shiro gave Keith a wan smile —“I can’t get my hands to stop shaking.”

Keith felt his head nod, but it was like someone else was moving it. Shiro nodded too, and looked around his living area. “It’s easier sitting down, but …” Shiro came to the same conclusion Keith had earlier. There wasn’t much of a sitting option at that moment. “I guess we’ll do it on my bed.”

_Do it on my bed_. _Did you hear what you just said, Shiro?_ Keith again considered bolting. 

Shiro turned and walked back into his bedroom, while Keith counted to ten in his head, trying to calm his racing pulse. He walked to Shiro’s room, each step labored, to find Shiro watching him curiously from his perch on the side of the bed. His arm, deactivated, sat next to him, waiting for Keith to reattach it.

“It’s easier to get it off,” Shiro explained, “But you have to line up the sensors just right to turn it back on, and I’m …” Shiro held up his left hand; it shook with a faint tremor.

Keith sat down next to Shiro and looked at the arm, focusing on the cool metal rather than all the warm skin of Shiro’s naked chest. Shiro spoke softly as he walked Keith through each step—turning it back on, lining up the sensors between the arm and his shoulder, and reactivating the virtual nerves. Shiro tested the connection once it was done, flexing his fingers, making a fist, raising and lowering his arm. 

“Thank you,” Shiro said, staring at his metal fist. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if steeling himself for something, before he turned to look at Keith. His face fell. 

Shiro used one metal finger to lift Keith’s chin up, the digit warmer than Keith expected it to be. Shiro looked at the torn and inflamed skin under Keith’s chin and moved Keith’s face back and forth to take in the full extent of Keith’s injury. He let go of Keith’s face, but not before he traced the scar on Keith’s cheek and jaw with a knuckle. 

Keith shivered. 

“I keep hurting you,” Shiro said quietly.

Keith shook his head. “It wasn’t you.”

Shiro looked down at the bruises on Keith’s arm. “Then why do I remember it?” Shiro said, his voice breaking on the word _remember_. 

“It’s not your fault,” Keith insisted, “You didn’t hurt me.”

Shiro dropped his head in his hands, and groaned angrily into his hands. “Keith, I have hurt you,” he said, “Not a clone whose memories I have, not someone who may or may not have hacked my brain. _Me_.

“I didn’t handle things with you well at the beginning of my relationship with Curtis. I didn’t do things...the right way. I knew how you felt and I thought avoiding the topic was better.”

Shiro finally admitted that he knew. There was no way they could go back to pretending that Shiro didn’t understand what Keith said, no more dancing around the truth. Keith had told Shiro he loved him, and Shiro knew Keith didn’t mean in a brotherly way.

Keith should have bolted when he had the chance.

“I should have been upfront with you and let you down, but I didn’t want to hurt you.”—Shiro looked at Keith, his eyes burning with an earnest intensity— “And I know that’s exactly what I did.”

Keith started to protest out of instinct, but it was half-hearted. Shiro had hurt him—hurt him worse than Zarkon or Honerva or anyone else. 

“I know I was pushy, but I’ve bee dying to tell you all of this since you got here. I wanted to tell you that I understand why you stayed away for so long,” Shiro said, “And I wanted to apologize.”

Keith couldn’t look at Shiro anymore. He found a spot on Shiro’s floor and stared at it, pushing all of himself onto it, not letting himself feel the mix of emotions swirling like a cyclone in his heart. “I wish things had gone differently,” Keith heard himself say, “But those five years … I did work I’m proud of, work to make the galaxy a safer place. I worked hard, and I saved lives, protected people. Not all of it was fun, but it was satisfying. And I don’t know if I would have done it if you hadn’t … gotten married.”

Keith swallowed. It was getting harder to talk, harder to hold back something big inside him trying to get out. Shiro waited, watching Keith, and Keith didn’t want to look at him. Keith had no control over his face—he’d reveal everything with a glance. 

He looked up. And Shiro looked back at him, his face just as raw and naked. 

“I wish we could have done that work together,” Shiro said, soft and tender, “I thought settling down and getting married was the answer to all my problems, but I think I was running away from them.”

Keith smirked ironically and Shiro met it with his own rueful smile. Keith wasn’t the only one then.

Shiro fiddled with his wedding band, that absent turning Keith had seen the night before. “I guess I don’t need this anymore,” he said as he tugged it off. He dropped in a drawer next to his bed and when he shut the door, it had a note of finality. “Time to move on.”


	14. Chapter 14

The trip to Q’unel Teludav took four quintants, and a little backtracking, but Atlas successfully picked up the Holt siblings. Within vargas of arriving, Pidge and Matt had commandeered the rooms with main access to Atlas’ computer and starting trying new protocols they’d created during their travel.

And somehow Keith’d been roped in.

Well, Keith knew how he’d been roped in. Since the attack on Atlas, Keith had become Hunk’s shadow, accompanying him everywhere he went. Which meant when Pidge asked Hunk to help them beef up Atlas’ digital security, they got both Hunk and Keith. 

Keith had been worried about seeing Pidge again. He was convinced they’d be mad at Keith for leaving. Instead, they’d just said they were happy to see Keith again … and Hunk had told them everything. Keith had balked at that. Too many people were too deep into Keith’s business. But at least Keith hadn’t gotten yelled at. No, Pidge had just put Keith to work, mostly running to get supplies and lifting heavy things, not really talking to Keith except through Hunk...

“Okay Hunk,” Pidge said, “We’re ready for a test of the new security protocols.” Pidge typed something, and looked between three monitors they’d set up. 

Hunk responded by also typing something into his own computer, before giving Pidge a thumbs up and then turning to Keith. Keith looked at Hunk, who waited expectantly for Keith to do something, and then at Pidge, who was typing furiously on a keyboard they’d rigged up to … something else. He looked back at Hunk and shrugged. Hunk mimed typing on a keyboard and Keith said, “Ohhh.” 

Keith walked over to a computer set up across the room to put in the starting sequence for a program Pidge had created to mimic the attack. The computer was only connected to Pidge’s computer, and therefore Atlas, by a thin cord. Was this all that it took to bring down a whole ship? Keith poised his fingers over the keyboard. “Ready.”

Pidge picked up a walkie talkie and clicked it on. “Matt, we’re about to start the test. Be ready to pull the plug if something goes wrong.”

_If something goes wrong._ Keith’s heart stopped in his chest. He looked over at the small containment chamber on the other side of the room. Matt was in an antechamber, just a laserproof door away from Shiro, cut off physically from the rest of the ship—just in case Pidge’s simulation hurt Shiro, or Shiro tried to hurt someone else. Half a dozen wires snaked their way from Shiro’s head and torso to Matt’s computer, monitoring who knows what.

But Keith wasn’t the only one looking. Shiro turned, as if he knew Keith was watching him, and his eyes met Keith’s. Keith looked back at Pidge. He’d barely spoken with Shiro in the quintants since the attack. Keith didn’t know what to say to this newly-divorced Shiro. 

Matt gave Pidge a thumbs up, and grabbed a literal plug. “Ten-four,” Matt said over the walkie talkie, and Pidge gave Keith the signal. Keith typed in the command to start the program and closed his eyes as he hit enter. 

He waited, holding his breath for five ticks, then ten, then fifteen. He opened one eye, and then the other—nothing had happened? He looked over to Shiro. Shiro seemed fine—at least he wasn’t glowing in any way he wasn’t supposed to—but they wouldn’t know until Matt reported in.

Pidge’s walkie talkie buzzed and clicked on: “Navigation to Pidge—all clear,“ followed a few seconds later by “Communications to Pidge—all clear.” Then, from Hunk only a few feet away, “Life Support—all clear.” 

Hunk tapped nervously on his knee as other systems reported in—gravity, lights, steering—and Pidge checked each one off a list. Keith knew only doboshes had passed since the fake attack had started, but it felt like vargas. Finally, the voice Keith most wanted to hear came over the walkie talkie: “Matt to Pidge—Shiro is all clear.”

Keith blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. So Pidge’s new security protocols had done their job. They signaled to Keith and Keith stopped the program on his computer. 

“Okay,” Pidge said, swiveling away from their computer, “If those measures had been in place when the attack happened, everything would have been fine.”

“But we have to assume that the next attack will be more sophisticated, right?” Hunk asked. 

Pidge nodded grimly. “And I’m not sure we were entirely able to replicate the part of the attack that affected Shiro.”

“Could you figure out what the attackers wanted?” Keith asked.

Pidge rubbed their hands over the short hairs of their buzz cut absently, and shook their head. “I can make some guesses, but I’m starting to subscribe to Dad’s theory.”

“You mean,” Keith said, “that whoever attacked us was after Shiro.”

Pidge nodded again and Keith felt all warmth leave his body. How do you stop a cyber attack against a person? Keith looked over at Shiro again—Matt was pulling wires from Shiro’s body, and checking in on him.

Pidge turned back to their computer and brought up a bunch of numbers and letters that didn’t mean anything to Keith. They scrolled quickly through some code and called Hunk over to look at something. Hunk scowled, and looked at Pidge. “So you think—?”

“Yeah,” they replied. 

Keith tried to figure out what they were talking about, but all he saw was … well, it looked like any other screen Pidge worked on. “Think what?” he asked.

Pidge held up two fingers. “Upon closer inspection, there are two things to be worried about. The first one is the source of the attack—”

“So you do know who did it,” Keith interjected.

“Let me finish and then you can ask questions,” Pidge said coolly, “And no we don’t know the exact person or persons responsible but we can make some educated guesses. This code looks a lot like the virus Shiro’s clone used to infect the Castle, which is how I was able to come up with countermeasures so quickly.”

“But that means whoever wrote this was probably Galran,” Hunk explained, “Which violates the treaty that allowed them to enter the Galactic Coalition.”

Keith frowned. “It could be the Galra Separatists,” Keith offered. It actually made a little sense—if the Separatists could do something that would violate the treaty between the Galra and the Coalition, they’d achieve their goal of an isolated Daibazaal. 

Pidge _hmmed_. “It’s not a bad theory. But we just don’t know enough to guess a motive.”

“It could also be an attempt to sow discord on Atlas,” Shiro said, coming up behind Keith with Matt. “What better way to affect cohesion than stirring up old grudges?” Keith felt his body instinctually turning toward Shiro, and his eyes found Shiro’s left hand—still no ring.

“Or, it couldn‘ve been an attempt at taking over Atlas,” Matt said, “She isn’t the most advanced ship in the galaxy, but she’s a powerful symbol of the Galactic Coalition. Taking control of Atlas would deal a major blow to the Coalition.”

Pidge nodded. “Those’re also good theories. And make sense considering that this attack was carried out on Atlas.”

“Why do you say that?” Shiro asked. It was much more polite than the _How the fuck can you know that?_ that popped into Keith’s head.

“The only way to connect to Atlas’ computer in the middle of space is through a hard connection,” Hunk explained, “Atlas isn’t a wi-fi hotspot you can connect to—it would be like trying to connect to a computer that’s not hooked up to the internet. So you have to be on board—or maybe just outside the ship—to wire yourself into the intranet.”

“What about communication outside Atlas?” Keith asked, “How can we send anything out or get anything sent to us?”

“It’s a separate system—it was designed that way for added security,” Matt added, “Dad explained the rationale once. They didn’t know what kind of peoples the Atlas was going to encounter out in space, so all the internal workings of the ship are separate from the sending and receiving messages system.” 

“Speaking of security, ” Pidge added, “breaching the encryption protocols on the intranet would take time—enough time for Atlas to realize someone was hanging off her hull or a ship was hovering just overhead.”

“So we have a mole,” Shiro said grimly. Hunk and Pidge exchanged troubled looks, before both nodding. The energy in the room became unbearably tense, and Keith could almost feel the strain of Hunk and Shiro trying not to consider who onboard might have done this. The obvious culprit would be a Galran—and there were plenty of them on board. From the medic who’d checked up on Keith after the attack, to engineers, to navigators, to a Junior Officer on the bridge, they were everywhere. But Keith was skeptical the mole would be so blatant. 

Without a clear motivation or a conspicuous suspect, they were just as much in the dark as before. But someone had to have answers.

Keith sighed. “Then I need to talk to my mom.”

* * *

Keith flashed a badge to the guards stationed outside the door to Hunk’s rooms. It was newly issued and still smelled of melted plastic, and the orange stylized _A_ under Keith’s name and picture granted him access to nearly every part of the ship. Despite already coming and going from Hunk’s rooms within the hour, the guards scrutinized Keith’s badge, peering at the details and comparing the picture with Keith’s face.

One, a tall Altean woman with long pastel blue hair, clicked on a walkie talkie. “Your Excellency, you have a visitor. Should I let him in?”

“Is it Keith?” Hunk‘s voice crackled over the speaker.

The Altean guard’s eyes narrowed at Keith. “Yes,” she said.

Keith could feel Hunk’s exasperation as he sighed. “Yes, let in Keith. _Always let in Keith_.”

The guards parted at Hunk’s permission and the door opened between them. Keith stepped between them and through the door, half expecting one to stop him before he could cross the threshold. Instead, he walked through and the door softly whooshed close behind him. 

“I sent off a message to Krolia with a sample of the code Pidge isolated, but we probably won’t hear back for a few days this far away from a teludav,” Keith said as he walked into Hunk’s room. Hunk put down the game controller he was holding, but Pidge kept playing the game—they were clearly ignoring Keith.

Keith cleared his throat and continued, “Krolia—and Kolivan—have a better sense of the scope of the Separatist movement among the Galra. They might have a better sense of who could get a mole on Atlas and what their motivations might be.”

Hunk rubbed his chin, scratching his uncharacteristic stubble. Neither of them had had much personal time in days. “Maybe this trip to Joraq should be cancelled. It might be better for us to focus more on this separatists issue than bringing another world into the Coalition.”

Keith shrugged. “You should bring that up to your bosses, and maybe Shiro. I just go where they tell me to go.”

Pidge snorted, but kept playing their game. Hunk shot them a sharp look, before turning back to Keith. “But what do you think?” he asked Keith, “You’ve been on tons of missions—you were the leader of Voltron. Come on, Keith. I’m sure you have an opinion.”

Keith sat on the steps leading down to the sunken living area and dropped his chin in his hand. He’d been turning over questions of _who_? and _why_? since the attack happened, but the answers were still elusive. Everyone had theories, and they all sounded more or less plausible to Keith. But the Joraq situation hadn’t really figured into any of his thoughts so far. Maybe the timing was significant? Or was it the location? Or maybe it was just random.

“I think,” Keith said, slowly sounding out the words as wisps of ideas began to take shape, “If Joraq even matters at all when it comes to this attack, it could be a deterrent. Like, someone is trying to stop us from going there. And if that’s the case, we definitely shouldn’t stop the trip.”

Hunk nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“But,” Keith held up a hand, “We have no idea if that’s true. What we do know is that Atlas was attacked and Shiro was hurt. If it were up to me, I probably wouldn’t risk an asset like Atlas right now. I’d turn around and fly back to Vosgarian Station or the Hub or wherever.”

“Of course you would,” Pidge muttered under their breath.

A shot of adrenaline coursed through Keith’s body. “What was that?”

Pidge shook their head, eyes still focused on the game, and said nothing.

A wave of anger crested and Keith instinctually balled his hands into fists. “I’m just trying to help here,” Keith said sharply as he stood up, “What’s your problem, Pidge?”

Pidge set down their controller slowly. They looked at Keith, and Keith was shocked by the fire in their eyes. “My problem is that your solution to every problem is to run away from it—”

“This has nothing to do with—” Keith started but Pidge talked right over him.

“—When things get hard, Keith finds an out. That’s how it’s always been with you. We all thought you had changed—you were our _leader_ —but I guess old habits die hard.”

“This isn’t about you, Pidge,” Keith said. It took all of his self-control not to shout at them.

“I know!” they shouted, pain in their voice, “It was about Shiro! But you didn’t just leave him behind—you left all of us behind. We worried about you! We didn’t know if you were alive or dead! Did you not think for one second how that would affect your friends?!”

_We didn’t know if you were alive or dead_. Oh, Pidge. 

Tears fell down their face, and Keith was consumed by guilt. How could he have done this to Pidge—after what happened to their dad and brother. Keith had stopped worrying about what Pidge or Lance or Allura would say when they saw him again because Hunk had been so understanding and Shiro had wanted to reconnect so badly. But they hadn’t lost people to space like Pidge, and hadn’t lived with uncertainty for years like Pidge. 

Pidge furiously pushed away the tears on their cheeks and the anger and self-righteousness filling Keith disappeared. “I’m sorry, Pidge,” Keith said. Pidge looked at him, and then looked away, wearing the same hollow look Keith was sure was on his face.

Keith paced back and forth. “Fuck!” he said. “I said I was sorry—I mean it. And I know I fucked up. But Pidge”—Keith pulled at his bangs in frustration—“It was easier for me to just be gone.”

“Was it?” Pidge asked, an edge still in their voice, “I’m sure you’ve said that to yourself over and over again since you left. But did it really solve any problems? Did it make it any easier to see _Shiro_ again after all this time? Did you move on and find someone else?”

The revelation shook Keith to his core. His voice caught in his throat. “No,” he croaked. Keith buried his head in his hands, lost in the realization that he had wasted five years and fucked up all his relationships for nothing. He didn’t hurt any less. He hadn’t moved on. He was still in that same place he was at Shiro’s wedding—just with five years of new scars. 

He briefly considered leaving and finding some place in Atlas to hide in—hide from his friends, and his feelings. He rooted himself to the spot instead. The last thing he wanted to do was prove Pidge right by running away again. 

Hunk scowled at Pidge, but Pidge had stopped paying attention to anything in the room but their game. Hunk’s feelings were so plainly written on his face—he was distressed by his friends yelling at each other, mad at Pidge for upsetting Keith, desperate to broker a peace.

“Pidge,” he started, but an alert from his comms interrupted him. It was a voice message from Veronica, probably sent to all the high-ranking and important personnel on board.

“Please be advised,” she said, “We have received word from the Altean royal family. They will be docking within the varga. Make your way as soon as possible to the hangar to greet them. Over and out.”


	15. Chapter 15

Lance held out his hand to help Allura down the last few steps off the ship. Allura put her hand in his, sending him a small smile as he took it. In her other hand, she held up the long train of her skirt, a much more formal and less practical dress than Keith had ever seen her wear. Lance was similarly impractically attired, with the hem of his tunic just skimming the floor. Lance also sported a beard, close cropped and obviously styled. 

They looked regal. They also looked ridiculous. Fashion on New Altea was getting out of hand. 

Keith watched the rest of their retinue—a procession of (what Keith guessed were) personal assistants and dressers and speech writers and maybe the pilot?—exit the ship from his position just behind Hunk. There had to be fifteen or twenty attendants, some carrying what looked like personal items and some lugging large trunks. 

Finally, another familiar face emerged from the ship. Keith smiled when he saw Coran, toddler in his arms, bringing up the rear. Coran spoke to his charge and she giggled, the high-pitched laughter carrying through the hangar. Coran’s face was animated and the arm not holding her swung about wildly—so he was telling her a story then. Keith wondered if it was one he’d heard before. 

Keith didn’t have too much time to think about Coran because Allura and Lance were walking right for him. Well, for Hunk. Lined up to receive the royal couple, the Queen and her consort greeted each of the high-ranking officers one-by-one. And now it was Hunk’s turn. Keith tried to disappear into the shadows, his “conversation” with Pidge still fresh in his mind. He didn’t think he could handle anymore guilt.

“Hunk,” Allura said, her face lighting up when she realized whose hand she was shaking, “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, Allura,” he said with such genuine emotion it made Keith’s heart hurt.

Lance was fast at Allura’s heels, and before Hunk could greet him, Lance had him pulled into a tight hug. Lance said something into Hunk’s ear and Hunk laughed.

Hunk turned and put out a hand to Keith, and Keith took an instinctive step backwards to just out of Hunk’s reach. Hunk just reached further and pulled Keith forward by his upper arm.

“Keith?” Allura asked. Both of her hands flew up to her mouth and tears glistened in her eyes. “Is it really you? Are you really here?”

Keith shrugged. “Hunk needed a bodyguard.”

Allura pulled Keith into a hug, and then Keith felt another pair of arms encircle his shoulders. Keith turned his head and there was Lance, also misty-eyed. Looking at the two of them, both so happy to see him, brought the prickle of tears to Keith’s eyes, too.

Lance pulled himself away first and coughed “We’ll have to catch up later,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. 

Allura disentangled herself, but kept a hold of Keith’s hands. “I can’t tell you how happy we are to see you,” she said, squeezing his hands when she said _you_.

Keith nodded, both his face and chest tight. “Let me know when you’re free.”

Allura let go of Keith’s hands reluctantly before moving to the next person in line. Keith put his hands up to his face, and his cheeks were hot under his palms. 

“That wasn’t so bad,” Hunk said, “I told you that nobody hates you.”

“Pidge does.”

Hunk shook his head. “Pidge is mad, but they don’t hate you. Give them some time.”

Lance and Allura got to the end of the line—to Shiro—and greeted him as warmly as they had Hunk. Shiro and Lance both had big smiles on their faces, and Allura seemed to be peppering Shiro with questions. It was a cozy sight, familiarity and joy radiating from them. 

Shiro looked away from Lance and Allura and his eyes locked with Keith’s. Shiro’s gaze felt like a physical weight, pressing into Keith. And then it was gone as quickly as it had come, and Shiro’s attention was back on the Altean royal family. Keith must have imagined the dusting of pink on Shiro’s cheeks. 

After Allura and Lance finished making all of their formal greetings before they were led away by a orange-shouldered crew member. Keith let out a long breath. That could have gone so much worse. When Hunk asked him to come, Keith had wished he’d been faster at coming up with an excuse. But, it felt good to get it over and done with. And at least no one had yelled at him this time.

Keith started to follow Hunk and the rest of the crowd out of the hangar, when he was stopped by a young Altean. 

“Excuse me,” he said, “Her Majesty, the Queen, requests that you join her and her prince consort in her rooms.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Hunk said, dropping his arm on Keith’s shoulders.

“Please excuse me Your Excellency,” the Altean went on, a little sheepishly, “The invitation was just for, um”—his eyes darted to Keith quickly, stumbling over Keith’s lack of title—“The Blade of Marmora Keith.”

“Oh,” Hunk said, crestfallen, at the same time Keith said, “ _Me??_ ”

The boy looked at both of them before deciding it was more important to address Hunk. Keith probably would have made the same decision. “However,” he continued, “Your Excellency should soon receive a formal invitation to a private dinner with Her Majesty.”

Hunk smiled and nodded. He pulled his arm from Keith’s and patted him on the shoulder. Once Hunk departed, the Altean addressed Keith again. “If it pleases you, you may follow me to Her Majesty’s rooms.”

“Um, okay.” _Way to go Keith._

The Altean turned on one foot and began walking away. Keith followed him down familiar hallways, stopping at three checkpoints to show their identification and get clearance to pass. Despite the delays, they made it to Allura and Lance’s rooms (one hallway over from Shiro’s room) in only a few minutes. 

Keith’s hands started to sweat. He wasn’t ready.

Keith’s guide opened the door and invited Keith into chaos. Allura and Lance’s attendants had opened a few trunks and were removing their contents, which included brightly colored pillows, large blankets, a few small pieces of furniture, a tea set, and a slew of toys for a spoiled toddler.

Keith was left in the middle of the room, a precarious position considering the quick and aggressive unpacking happening around him, and he nervously played with his hair. Fortunately, Allura didn’t take too long to find him.

“Keith,” she said, “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m not sure I could have refused,” he said and she laughed. She pulled him into brief hug, before leading him into one of the smaller rooms off the main one. As soon as the doors opened, there was Lance sitting in a large wingback chair that definitely wasn’t on board an hour ago and talking on his comms. Keith caught a glimpse of … Hunk? but only a second later Lance said goodbye and hung up.

Lance stood up from his chair and approached Keith. His expression was odd, maybe a little appraising, as he got closer. “Are you taller?” Lance asked.

Keith laughed. “That was Hunk’s first question, too.”

Allura’s laughter joined Keith’s but Lance looked for something to measure Keith with. Allura just laughed harder.

“Yes, I am taller,” Keith said, “Mom thinks it’s a Galra thing. I’m still pretty young by their standards.”

Lance gave up the search with a sigh, and invited Keith to sit with him and Allura at a small round table. As soon as Keith sat down, an attendant he hadn’t even realized was in the room poured him a small cup of tea.

“Thank you, Sena,” Allura said to the attendant, “I think we can take care of ourselves for a while.”

The attendant—Sena—bowed and left the room, closing the door behind her. 

“Sorry we’re a little disorganized,” Allura said, gesturing to the partially unpacked room, “But we weren’t planning on a rendezvous with Atlas until after the Altean New Year.”

“Oh,” Keith said, “I didn’t even know you were coming. They don’t really tell me those things—I’m not really important around here.”

Allura looked at Keith oddly, like she didn’t believe Keith.

Keith cleared his throat and looked down at his tea. “So why the change of plans?”

“Veronica called and told me about the meet up with Pidge at the Q’unel Teludav,” Lance said, “And Q’unel is only two wormholes away from New Altea. So, instead of having Atlas take another detour, I suggested that we just come now.”

Allura made a small noise in her throat. “A suggestion made without bothering to run it by anyone else ...”

Lance colored and apologized to Allura. It was an old argument, but there was no animosity in their interaction. Just familiarity, and love.

“So Keith,” Allura said with a suspicious glint in her eyes, startling Keith, “tell us, what have you been up to since we last saw you?”

Keith shook his head. “Not too much. Lots of missions for the Blades.”

“Like …?” she prompted.

“Um,” Keith said, “Some undercover work. I helped break up a smuggling ring last year. And I pulled a bunch of people off their houses after a disastrous flood on Mouji.”

“Wow,” Lance said, “Still saving the galaxy.”

“Not really,” Keith said, “Mostly I do a lot of sneaky things I probably shouldn’t, and when I’m not doing that, I’m carrying messages and cargo around the galaxy in my ship.”

Lance looked at Allura and she looked back at him. A silent conversation seemed to pass between their eyes. Lance took a sip of his own tea and said into his cup, “Sounds like he’s still saving the galaxy to me.”

Allura tried to fight back a grin and failed, and Keith wanted to smile with her. He resisted. “I just do what they tell me to do. I go where I’m told to go.”

“I don’t think he's going to say it,” she said to Lance quietly. She looked at Keith, and Keith floundered. What were they talking about?

“Keith, we know what you did for New Altea,” she said, “We know that you took charge of a volatile situation on board the Enfor. You saved thousands of Altean lives, and we couldn’t be more grateful for that.”

Oh. The _Enfor_. 

It had been a hostage situation, though Keith hadn’t known the ship was full of Alteans until much later. He had been told to go in, kill the hostage takers, and get the ship back on course. But, of course, it hadn’t been that easy. The ship’s computer was riddled with viruses—if they weren’t deactivated properly, the self-destruct would’ve activated and blown the ship to pieces. Keith realized that if he killed the hostage takers, a faction of space pirates, he’d be essentially killing everyone on board. So he took a few pirate hostages of his own, got the computer cleaned up, and put the pirates in an escape pod to be picked up by the Coalition. 

Well, most of the pirates. A few must’ve blended in with the hostages, and escaped at their first chance. They completely destroyed two Galran mining operations before eventually being caught and killed, and Keith had been put on cargo duty for three phoebs. 

“I’m just glad I could help,” Keith said with a tight smile. Best not to explain that the Blades viewed the whole debacle as a colossal fuck up. 

Lance’s face changed, a glimpse of pain spreading over his features before he could get them back under control. “Hunk says you did a lot of helping while you were gone,” Lance said, “Even though he really missed you.”

Keith looked away, ashamed. “I know—I fucked up and I’m sorry,” he said vehemently, “And it wasn’t right—”

“Whoa whoa,” Lance said, holding up his hands, “Where is all of this coming from?”

“I hurt everyone when I left. I wish I could go back and do something different. I’m sorry and I’m so tired of saying I’m sorry and I just feel so—”

Allura reached across the table and took Keith’s hands in hers. Keith looked at their joined hands, her fingers tightly gripping Keith’s palms. “Keith, if I learned anything from the story of my life,” she said, “it’s that you can never go back. Think of all the times I tried to go back, Keith. None of them ended up working. The only way is forward. We all have to keep moving forward.”

“And we’re not mad at you,” Lance added, “Sure, we missed you, and we were worried about you, but we always thought you were doing something important?”

“You did?”

“Especially after the Enfor.”

Allura squeezed Keith’s hands, just like she had done in the hangar. She exchanged another wordless conversation with Lance before getting up from the table. “I think I need to make sure Alfora isn’t taking after her father and making a mess.”

She touched Keith on the shoulder as she came around behind him before dropping a kiss on Lance’s head. Lance watched her go, a small fond smile on his lips.

As soon as she was out the door, Lance’s entire demeanor changed. “Okay, time for some man talk.”

“Man talk?” Keith asked skeptically, but Lance was already on the other side of the room rummaging through a trunk.

He pulled out a metal bottle and plonked it down hard on the table. “Coran’s been trying to reverse engineer his Pop-pop’s nunvil recipe and this is his latest attempt.”

“I thought you said it tasted like feet.” Keith eyed the bottle warily.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Lance said as he opened the bottle and poured the nunvil into Keith’s tea. “But just in case, it does taste better when mixed with other drinks.”

Lance poured a healthy amount in his own tea and rejoined Keith at the table. He held up his cup and Keith clinked their cups together. Keith took a long drink from his cup, trying to ignore the new musty flavor of his tea. “This is pretty gross,” he said.

“I’ll have to tell Coran that this batch isn’t as good as the last one,” Lance said as he considered his cup. He picked up the bottle and poured more into each of their tea cups anyway.

Lance sipped his nunvil-laced tea slower this time. “I’m sure you figured it out, but Hunk caught me up,” Lance said, “He told me … well, he told me a lot about what’s been going on since you got to Atlas.”

“Oh,” Keith said. He felt far away from the conversation. Perhaps that was an effect of the nunvil. “Like what?”

Lance sighed. “Pidge is smart—like so _so_ smart, definitely smarter than the two of us—but from what Hunk said, they were being a real dummy this afternoon. They were hurt and they lashed out so you would hurt, too.”

“I think they were right,” Keith said, “I keep thinking about that decision, Lance. Over and over again I have to justify it—every time I see someone my old life. And talking with Pidge honestly clarified things for me. I have no justification because it was a bad decision. I didn’t gain anything by leaving, and I wasted so much time.”

Lance’s face went from thoughtful to firm. “You didn’t waste that time,” he said, conviction in his voice, “I don’t know if it was right or wrong; it’s not my place to decide. But I do know that you have the opportunity now to learn from your decisions. I would say learn to be a better communicator, but I think that’s beyond your capabilities.”

“Fuck you, Lance,” Keith said, but there was no heat behind his words. 

Lance rested his chin on his hands. “Here’s how I see what happened: Shiro was retiring. I left with Allura and Coran for New Altea. Pidge and Matt and Sam went off into space to built robots and ships or whatever. Hunk took a break from all this space stuff to reconnect with his family. What else were you supposed to do? Hang around on Earth? Re-enlist with the Garrison?

“Pidge is mad at you because you left, but honestly Keith, I’m not sure what staying would have looked like for you. This is not me endorsing your five years of radio silence, but you spending five years with the Blades? Makes perfect sense to me. You worked with people you knew—not to mention your mom—on things you cared about.”

“But is that just a rationalization?” Keith asked, “I feel like when I tell people that I was busy, or that I enjoyed the work, that I’m searching for a justification. I think … before I left, I was so hurt and confused. Going back to the Blades was instinct more than anything else.”

“But that’s what I was saying,” Lance said, “You needed something familiar and comfortable. And the Blades of Marmora were it. If there was any hurt, at least for me, it was that you didn’t feel comfortable coming back or talking to me about it. And that’s definitely my ego—and probably the nunvil—talking, but we wanted to be there for you. At least, I did.”

Keith looked at Lance—really looked at him. Lance was older, but more than that, he was grown up. Keith had seen the beginning of this transformation—first toward the end of the war, and then after Allura died. But this Lance was more. “Shit, Lance, when did you get to be so wise?”

Lance said deadpan, “I have a three year old, Keith.”

They both burst into giggles. Keith felt light and carefree and … fuzzy. Okay, the nunvil was definitely having some effect. He didn’t even remember drinking the rest of his nunvil-tea.

Keith held out his cup and Lance dutifully refilled it. Now that there was no tea left, the musty, sweaty smell of the nunvil was much stronger. And that made Keith laugh, too. How absurd to be drinking distilled sweat water.

Lance’s giggling trailed off into a soft chuckle. “This is really awful. But I think we’ll be fine as long as we don’t hallucinate.”

Keith raised his eyebrows and looked down at his cup. “This stuff can make you hallucinate? Why did you give this to me?”

Lance waved away his concerns with a hand. “I was just joking … and Coran’s only made a batch that made me hallucinate once.”

Keith put down his cup with enough force to make the tea set on the table rattle on its tray. “Okay, that’s enough for me. And I probably shouldn’t be getting drunk right now.”

“You’re not ‘drunk’ on nunvil,” Lance said, “There’s an Altean word for it. Hmm, I think it’s nun—nuh—nuhvit?—nunvitta—eh, something like that.”

“Oh, good,” Keith said with a roll of his eyes that he immediately regretted. His eyes might’ve stopped moving but the room kept spinning. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Either way, I should stop.”

Lance shrugged and put the metal bottle back where he’d found it. He only stumbled once and seemed to take that as a victory. Keith didn’t know what to do with his hands—hands that he could barely feel at this point. He traced the whorled inlays on the table with a fingertip, just to keep his hands busy.

A memory suddenly pushed its way into Keith’s conscious thoughts—Lance, drunk on pilfered wine and inconsolably sad, wailing in Hunk’s arms. _What am I supposed to do now? How am I gonna go on without her?_

“Lance,” Keith said, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, but …”

Lance arched an eyebrow at Keith. “Go on.”

“How did you … move forward after … Allura …”

“Died?” Lance finished Keith’s question. He looked Keith straight in the eye, and Keith instantly wanted to take the question back.

“You were there,” Lance said, “Don’t you remember?”

“I remember it being hard for you for a long time,” Keith replied, “And then it wasn’t so hard. I don’t really know how you got from one point to the other.”

Lance scratched his beard, pushing around his smoothly styled whiskers. “For a while, it was all about what I’d lost when she died. I was sad because … it was a missed opportunity thing. Finally, _finally_ , she’d paid attention to me and then she’s gone? And we’d never have a life together? It was hard to reconcile the future I wanted for us with the reality that that was never going to happen.”

Lance’s voice was clear and steady, but there was a heaviness to his demeanor. 

“It’s okay,” Keith said, “You don’t have to—”

Lance stopped him. “No, I want to. I … need to. For both of us.”

Keith nodded and Lance cleared his throat. He continued, “I eventually realized that me being sad and doing nothing wasn’t helping anyone—most of all, me. So I decided to be sad and do something”—Lance chuckled and Keith smiled—“I always wanted to do right by her, and I thought if I told her story, I’d keep her alive—for me and for everyone else. You know this part of the story.”

Keith _hmmed_ in agreement.

“It was so hard at first—telling people who she was and giving her story an ending,” Lance said, “It got easier over time, and one day I woke up and I didn’t feel like her loss was a gaping wound anymore. I went on a few dates. I kept her with me, but I had to live my life—not hers and not the one I imagined for us.”

“I didn’t know you went on any dates,” Keith said.

“Most people don’t,” Lance said, “They were nice, and that’s exactly what I needed at the time—something easy and nice.”

“So, when she came back …” Keith prompted. 

“God, when she came back,” Lance said, laughing, “I thought I was losing my mind. I’d done all this hard work—grieving and moving on—and then she had to come back. I thought the galaxy was fucking with me. But no, of course Allura figured out how to magic herself back to life.”

Keith knew a little something about that. He remembered being in the Black Lion’s consciousness, talking to Shiro—the real Shiro—and thinking he was coming down with space madness.

“Two years had passed,” Lance said, “and she basically was the same person as when she died, but I wasn’t the same person at all.”

And Keith knew about that, too. Two years spent with his mother in the Quantum Abyss—learning, growing, figuring out how to be a family—it had made him a different person.

Lance continued. “I was cautious at first. I didn’t know if things would go back to the way they were, or if that was even a good idea. But, after some time of getting reacquainted, I knew that I still loved her. And we could have that future I dreamed of. I just had to open myself up to it.”

Lance stretched out his arms. “And now I have all this junk to bring with me from spaceship to spaceship.”

Keith laughed, a deep soul-cleansing laugh. How Lance managed so easily to go from heart wrenching to ridiculous was something Keith would never understand. 

Lance smiled, and it filled his face. “And a wife,” he said, emotion making his voice thick, “And a daughter.”

Keith smiled, but it felt hollow. He was happy for Lance—truly, heartwarmingly happy—but he didn’t know how to take Lance’s advice and apply it to his situation.

“So, ” Keith asked, “What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Lance said, “Maybe going out for a promotion?”

Keith chuckled. “Maybe.”

“Or have you tried dating?” Lance asked, “Maybe a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend? Or, really, a lover of any of the multitude of genders we’ve encountered out in space.”

“I don’t know if it’s that easy,” Keith said, frowning, “There’s a pretty limited dating pool on the Atlas.”

Lance gave Keith an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me? People are hooking up left and right on this ship. Allura’s personal assistant had to evacuate two people being intimate from this very room— _today_. And, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but do you not see how people look at you in your Marmora get up?”

Keith plucked at his hood. “This? This is just standard issue body armor.”

“That shows off your _ass_.”

“Okay, I’m uncomfortable now,” Keith said. His ears were hot and he didn’t want to think about how Lance had been on Atlas for less than an hour and had already noticed people checking Keith out. Keith had been on Atlas for almost a phoeb and he hadn’t thought anyone had been interested in him.

“All I’m saying,” Lance added, “Is that moving forward looks different for different people. It’s not about forgetting what happened—and maybe you still have to deal with all the ramifications of that—but reflecting on it, figuring out how you’re gonna let it affect your life, learning how to have healthy relationships.”

Keith felt an odd prickle down his spine. He narrowed his eyes at Lance. “Hunk told you about what happened at Shiro’s wedding, didn’t he?”

Lance looked sheepish. “He maybe indicated that something that happened at the wedding might have been the tipping point for you.”

_Shit. How long until the whole galaxy knew?_

“Are you,” Lance started, unsure for the first time since arriving on Atlas, “still in love with him?”

“I … don’t know. I try not to think about it.” Keith knew he still felt something when Shiro was around, but the way his body reacted—the pounding of his heart, the familiar way he fell into Shiro’s orbit—could just be muscle memory. 

“I do know that he doesn’t love me—isn’t in love with me,” Keith added, his mouth twisted up in an ironic smile, “And he never has been. So I’m not sure it matters.”

“It matters, Keith. Have you asked him about it?” Lance asked, “Like _really_ asked him about it—directly and honestly.”

“I’m pretty sure that conversation will kill me. And if it doesn’t, I might want to throw myself out of an airlock afterwards,” Keith said.

Lance hummed as his brows furrowed in thought. It was never a good idea to let Lance think so hard. “But can you move on without knowing for sure?”

What a question. What a question that Keith did not have an answer to. Shiro had never said he wasn’t in love with Keith, but marrying someone else was a pretty clear sign. But now they were divorced—did that change everything Keith had known? Or, he supposed, assumed?

Keith groaned. “How dare you put that thought in my head.”

Lance reached across the table and patted Keith on the shoulder. He started to say something, but was interrupted by a tornado entering through the door. Alfora and Coran whirled in on a wild energy—Coran excited to see Keith again (and hug Keith again) and Alfora anxious to meet someone new. 

Keith endured the barrage of questions about his life from Coran, and about his clothes and hair from Alfora, before excusing himself from the room. He was sobering up, and Lance had—surprisingly—given him a lot to think about. 

He stepped out of Allura’s rooms and into a mostly empty hallway. The attendants moving crates from the ship to the room had settled elsewhere, leaving only Atlas’ security guards patrolling the hallway.

And Shiro.

Shiro seemed just as surprised to see Keith, stepping out of his room at the same time Keith emerged from the royal suite. Shiro’s lips formed Keith’s name, but any sound was swallowed up by the conversation of the group following Shiro out of his room. 

Veronica called Shiro’s name, and Shiro slowly dragged his eyes from Keith. Keith’s heart beat fast in his chest, and he used Shiro’s distraction to slip by Senior Officers loosely huddled in the hallway. He looked over his shoulder as he turned the corner and his eyes met Shiro’s again.

_Are you still in love with him?_

Shiro smiled—soft and warm—and waved to Keith. Keith turned on his heel and ran back to his bunk.


	16. Chapter 16

In the movement following the Holts’ and Altean royal family’s arrival, Keith had seen at lot of Shiro, but—thankfully—Shiro had been too busy for any more one-on-one time. Outside of meetings and formal dinners, Keith had only seen glimpses of Shiro, mostly of him rushing from one end of the ship to the other. Definitely not enough time to talk about the attack or Shiro’s divorce or Keith’s feelings about Shiro’s divorce.

Instead, Keith got to mull over his feelings with his own dumb brain. Every time Keith had a moment of peace and quiet, the voice in the back of his mind would remind him of Lance’s question: _Are you still in love with him?_

Despite turning the question over and over, looking at it from difference angles, Keith didn’t have anymore of an answer now than when Lance had asked. He was definitely still attracted to Shiro, that desperate part of him had never really gone away, but there was also that awful gremlin in his mind who was still mad at Shiro, and reminded Keith of all the ways Shiro had hurt and upset him. 

But, somehow, he still felt drawn to Shiro. He’d always thought of Shiro as this enormous star and Keith was like a meteor who got caught in Shiro’s gravity. No matter how far Keith wandered away, he still felt that _pull_ that linked them together. Before, he’d thought it was all him—faced with Shiro’s brilliance, how could he not get sucked in? But now, after their conversation in Shiro’s room, Keith wondered if Shiro wasn’t just a star Keith orbited who passively pulled Keith in, but ... what if Shiro felt that pull too? From what Keith remembered in his science classes, things with mass, no matter how big or small, attracted each other. 

Were people like celestial bodies, constantly gravitating toward each other?

Keith eventually was able to push Shiro out of his mind, giving up on trying to answer Lance’s question and his half-formed gravity metaphor, because the Blades had found and infiltrated another Separatists cell. They’d gone to the base Keith’d mentioned—the one in the Bgge system—and passed on their information to Keith and Acxa. 

Unfortunately, the base had nothing on Joraq, and nothing on the attack on Atlas.

Still, there was plenty to fill up long meetings between Kolivan and Acxa and Keith, and it was after one such meeting that Keith’d found a message on his comms from Shiro:

_Meet me in the hangar. 1900 Atlas time. Don’t wear your uniform._

Keith hadn’t talked to Shiro in quintants—not on anything other than Blade and/or Atlas business. If Shiro wanted to talk to Keith in his official capacity as captain, he would have done it during regular hours, not one varga before midnight. 

So, curious, Keith made his way to the hangar in civilian clothes, trying to stay out of the way of the crew of engineers and traffic controllers who had just taken over the night shift. Keith tucked his hands in fingerless gloves into the pockets of his jeans and looked around the hangar. A few crew members moved around in the main office, checking the flight and docking logs, and the rest worked on the MFE planes. Without any ships coming in any time soon, it was almost peaceful, the soft drone of far off whirring machinery soothing him into something approaching calm. 

A calm that ended as soon as he saw Shiro, in a denim button down over tight, black jeans, step into view from behind a large transport ship. Keith’s pulse quickened as his eyes locked with Shiro’s. 

And in an instant, Lance’s question was back.

_Are you still in love with him?_

Shiro waved as he got closer. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Keith whispered.

Shiro grinned. “Why are you whispering?” he whispered back.

“Because, I don’t know, this seemed like a secret meeting or something.” Keith raised his shoulders up to his ears, feeling silly.

Shiro’s grin broke into a chuckle. “It’s not really,” Shiro said, “I’m going down to Tabernas Station and I was hoping you’d join me.” Shiro spoke with confidence, but his brows were pinched together in worry.

“I thought no one was allowed to leave Atlas right now,” Keith said, “With the extra security measures and all.”

Shiro face relaxed a fraction. “I’m the highest ranked person on this ship. Who’s gonna get mad at me?”

“Who’s gonna captain this ship?” Keith pushed back. This was familiar—the way they were teasing each other—but it had a new fragility, like the bubble could burst at any second.

“Veronica,” Shiro said, matter of fact, “She’s very capable. Atlas likes her.” 

_Atlas likes her?_ Keith thought it was weird enough that Atlas liked Shiro and they were magically bonded or something. He didn’t expect her to have opinions on anyone else.

“Does … Atlas like me?” Keith asked. 

Shiro screwed up his face in mock deliberation. “Hmm, jury’s still out. So, are we going on not?”

“Shut up,” Keith said, pushing playfully on Shiro’s shoulder, “Come on, tell me the truth. What does Atlas think of me?”

Shiro’s smile faltered, just a little, as his eyes took on a serious cast. Keith felt like an idiot—he’d ruined the mood.

“She’s not sure,” Shiro said and Keith thought he felt an answering buzz from the ship, “She’s worried about you.”

Keith frowned. “Worried about me?”

Shiro looked away and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Worried about … the effect you have on the stability of the crew.”

“What does that mean?”

“ _Me_ ,” Shiro said, exasperated—the bubble had burst. “She’s worried about the effect you have on me. She’s very protective of me.”

“Oh,” Keith mouthed, shocked by Shiro’s honesty. Shiro bit his lip, his eyes still focused on something far off to his right. Keith shouldn’t have pushed so hard, shouldn’t have pushed Shiro where he didn’t want to go. 

Keith had an apology on his lips when Shiro turned back to face him. “I … don’t really want to talk about that. I didn’t ask you here to talk about … that,” he said, “I don’t really want to talk about anything. I just want to get off this ship.”

“Okay,” Keith said.

A brittle smile tugged at the corners of Shiro’s mouth. “Yes,” Shiro breathed, “Let’s go.” He took a step back, inviting Keith to follow him. Shiro led them to a small cargo ship near the entrance to the hangar. He opened the door to the cockpit, and—always the gentleman—let Keith enter first. The cockpit was tiny, even for the size of the ship, and Shiro had to press up against Keith’s back to follow Keith inside. Shiro guided Keith to the co-pilots seat with soft words and even softer touches that left Keith feeling like his skin was on fire. Once they were both buckled in, Shiro started up the ship and contacted traffic control for permission to depart. 

While Shiro waited for the all clear from traffic control, he turned to Keith. “I hope they get back to us before anyone catches us and makes us go to another meeting.”

Keith groaned. “Yes please. I’m so sick of those. I’ve stopped paying attention.”

“I’ve noticed,” Shiro said. And then he winked. Keith didn’t get a chance to investigate that further, because traffic control was in Shiro’s headset, clearing them for departure, and Shiro’s full attention was on safety exiting Atlas.

It had been a long time—practically ages at this point—since Keith had seen Shiro pilot anything, but Shiro flew them out of the hangar and into open space with ease. Shiro kept one steady hand on the controls while he pointed out Tabernas Station, though it would have been hard for Keith to miss it as close as they were. The station looked like a very small moon orbiting a gas giant, the only hint that it wasn’t naturally occurring was the glint of the system’s twin suns off its metal hull. 

“Have you made it out to this station before?” Shiro asked.

Keith shook his head. “I’ve never even heard of it, to be honest.”

“It’s pretty new,” Shiro explained, “I was here with Atlas last year to dedicate the station. It’s one of the first of its kind.”

“And what kind is that?” Keith asked.

“A Biome Station,” Shiro replied, “An artificial environment that’s completely self-sufficient—at least that’s the goal.”

Keith hadn’t heard of Biome Stations, but Keith had been pretty far out of the loop of Coalition news since going undercover. It made sense to put this new kind of station here—this system was large and well-populated, and right next to a permanent wormhole. If you’re gonna experiment with self-sufficiency, probably best to do it where it’s easy to get supplies, just in case.

The whole trip from Atlas to Tabernas Station took a little over a varga, but there wasn’t much time to talk with Shiro on the way down. Shiro was in constant communication with Tabernas Station and Atlas to ensure their trajectory was safe, leaving Keith with a lot of time to just watch. 

Keith focused most of his energy on the station, watching it grow larger as they got closer. The closer they got, the easier it was for Keith to take in more and more non-natural details—its enormous solar panels angled to best soak up the two suns’ rays, freestanding hangars connected with a thin bridge to the station proper, and the name of the station in letters as tall as skyscrapers. He was surprised that there didn’t seem to be any windows on the station—usually people went a little stir crazy trapped inside anything that didn’t have windows.

Just behind the station was an enormous storms on the gas giant’s surface. The swirls of purple and black and pale green pushed into each other and around each other as they danced across the surface of the planet. Lightning lit up the clouds like twinkling lights in a fog. He thought he could feel the energy released in those bolts, sparking electricity up and down his arms. 

But then there was Shiro, still tugging at him, with his presence demanding Keith’s attention. Keith watched Shiro talk easily and confidently with the station, Shiro’s hands steady and sure on the controls. He negotiated with the station traffic control to get landing clearance, and from what Keith could hear, he was having some trouble on the other end. Keith looked at him, raising his eyebrows in a silent question, and Shiro put a hand over the mouthpiece of his headset. He whispered to Keith, “It’s just after four a.m. there so they’re a little cranky.” 

Shiro winked again and Keith thought he might combust. Keith gave Shiro a thumbs up and felt so ridiculous, he immediately wondered if he could throw himself off the ship. Fortunately, Shiro wasn’t paying attention to Keith, or Keith mentally kicking himself, because he had to pay attention to instructions from the station. When it was time to line up the ship with the guidance beacons, Shiro bit his lip and furrowed his brow in concentration until they were parked in a hangar.

“We made it,” Shiro said, “To tell the truth, I thought for sure someone from Atlas would call us back before we landed. And now that we’re here, we can’t leave for a few vargas, so if anything comes up, they’ll just have to do without us.”

Shiro tucked his arms behind his head and smiled. He looked so young, so boyish. The need to touch Shiro—run his fingers through Shiro’s hair and feel his bicep where it stretched his shirt and trace Shiro’s cheekbones with his thumbs—was overwhelming. Keith sat on his hands. 

“What do you mean we can’t leave for a few vargas?” Keith asked, trying desperately to think of anything but tracing the shell of Shiro’s ear with his knuckles.

“Station protocol,” Shiro answered, “It’s to deter smugglers.”

Shiro herded Keith out of his seat, and out of the door of the ship, to speak with the station official with a tablet. The official, some species Keith had never encountered, asked for Keith’s and Shiro’s identification without even looking at them. The official only looked up at Keith after seeing his passport. 

The official’s eyebrows (well, eyeridge) raised. “A Blade of Marmora? Is there a problem on the station? Should I tell my superiors?” they asked, one hand on their comms.

“I have no idea,” Keith said, shrugging, “I’m off-duty.”

Shiro’s papers got a similar nervous look, and then a curious, inspecting look as their one eye moved from Shiro to Keith. “I’m also off-duty,” Shiro said, trying to fight back a smile.

The officer logged their information on a tablet before handing their papers back to Shiro. “Would you mind opening your cargo hold Captain Shirogane?” they requested.

Shiro led the officer to the back of the ship, and Keith followed behind. Shiro opened the cargo doors, one door folding down to make a ramp and the other rolling up into the ship’s hull. There was only one thing in the cargo bay—a bright red hoverbike magnetically clamped to the floor. Shiro spoke to the officer as the doors opened, but he looked at Keith. 

And Keith didn’t disappoint. He gasped when he saw the bike, a newer model than the one he had owned, but just as brightly painted. He traced the lines of it with his eyes, imagined the wind whipping his hair back as he opened up the throttle. Shiro signed the officer’s screen and could barely conceal his amusement at Keith’s reaction. 

The officer left them, still obviously curious but too busy to stay and ask questions, and Keith exploded from his spot. “When did you—How did you—How long have you had this on Atlas?”

Shiro held up his hands to calm down Keith. “Curtis actually brought it up when he came to Vosgarian Station. He, um, didn’t want to store it anymore, especially since …”

“He’s got a new man,” Keith supplied, half-listening and half-distracted by squatting down and removing the magnetic clamps. 

“Yeah, basically,” Shiro said. Keith stood up once the hoverbike was no longer attached to the ship, and rubbed his hands over the artificial leather of the seat, just big enough for two passengers. Shiro watched him explore the contours of the bike, then leaned over Keith to put the keys in and start up the engine. The hovering engines turned on and lifted the bike off the ground. Shiro pushed it, and it went easily until it was unloaded from the ship.

“You wanna drive?” Shiro asked.

Keith gaped at him. “You can drive it in here?”

“As long as you keep to the lowest speed.” Shiro reached into one of the bike’s compartments and pulled out some goggles. He dangled them from one hand and Keith lunged for them. Of course Keith wanted to drive. 

Keith put on the goggles and let them hang around his neck. He then put one foot on the footrest and swung his body up and onto the bike. He put his hands on the controls and gripped them tight, anxious to pull back the handles and let the bike _fly_.

Shiro put one hand on Keith’s thigh and the other on the body of the hoverbike, and then Keith remembered the second seat behind him. Shiro pushed himself up and swung onto the bike behind Keith, his knees framing Keith’s hips with a ghost of a touch that burned into Keith. 

Keith couldn’t think about that now. “Where to?” he asked.

“Just follow the exit signs,” Shiro said, “Once we’re out of the hangar, follow the signs to the nearest city.”

_Nearest city? What kind of weird-ass station was this?_

Keith twisted the control and the hovermotors responded, tilting to move them forward. They moved smooth as silk, with the kind of precision control Keith had only dreamed of. Shiro had spent a lot of cash on this bike—either that or Shiro had put in a lot of time taking it apart and putting it back together. 

Keith itched to go full speed, but he kept the bike in check as he moved into the exit lane between a cargo truck and a commuter bus. Shiro’s arms brushed Keith’s back, changing from one position to another, as if didn’t know where to put his hands. Keith knew how to change that.

They reached the exit and as soon as they were out of the hangar, Keith gunned it. Lightning quick, Shiro’s hands flew to Keith’s waist and held on tight to the fabric of Keith’s jacket as Keith weaved in and out of traffic in the tunnel that connected the hangar to the rest of the station. The end of the tunnel was just as dark, so Keith couldn’t see what was waiting for them on the station. That didn’t stop him from rushing to the exit.

Then they emerged from the tunnel and it felt like the breath was squeezed out of Keith’s lungs. Keith pulled over the first place he could and nearly fell off the bike, his legs too wobbly to support him. A rocky desert spread out for miles in all directions. The sky—an artificial dome that felt as vast as the real thing—was dark with just a blush of pink starting to spread from behind distant plateaus. Lights winked at them from far off settlements and one sizeable city probably only a few miles from where they were.

_A Biome Station,_ Keith thought, _This is what Shiro meant._

Shiro, still on the bike, gently kicked Keith in the shoulder. “Are you doing okay?”

“This is incredible,” Keith said, turning in a circle, “I have so many questions. Like, does it have weather?”

Shiro laughed. “Yes, it does,” he said, “The whole station’s pretty much a closed system. Most stations need continuous resupplying—even those that grow their own food—but with this one, the outside supplies it needs are minimal. It makes its own food, its own energy, and they manufacture a lot of its spare parts down below from recycled goods. This is a sort of test balloon—to see if we can build stations that replicate life on a planet.”

“And they picked a desert … because?”

“No clue,” Shiro said, a wildness about him Keith hadn’t seen since before Kerberos, “But are we going to stay on the side of the road all day or …?”

“Hell no,” Keith said. He hopped back up on the bike and barely gave Shiro enough time to readjust before he was speeding down the hill into the wide, flat desert. Keith left the road after a mile and pushed the bike to its limit over the dusty terrain. They flew over scrub brushes and small cactuses, past long straight rows of crops between irrigation canals, until they hit the river. Keith pulled the bike up at the river bank, and marveled at the sunrise reflected in the calm, slow moving waters. 

“You almost forget you’re on a station,” Keith said, more to himself than to Shiro.

Shiro hummed in agreement, his hands still holding Keith’s waist in a loose grip. They didn’t speak for a long time, both of their gazes trained on the sun emerging from behind a plateau on the other side of the river as the sky changed from pink and purple to orange to the palest blue. A wind picked up behind them and pushed Keith’s hair into his face. 

_Wind_. When was the last time he’d felt _wind_?

Shiro’s hands moved from Keith’s waist to his shoulders. Keith closed his eyes as Shiro’s thumbs dug into the knotted muscle just at the top of Keith’s spine. 

“Keith,” Shiro said softly, removing his hands, “We should probably get moving. There’s a lot more to see, and we’ll have to get back to Atlas in time to get some sleep.”

After seeing a sunrise like that, Keith couldn’t believe it was the middle of the night on Atlas.

“I don’t know if I can sleep after this,” Keith said. He rotated in his seat to look at Shiro. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Shiro smiled back at Keith. “Come on,” he said gently, “Let’s go.”

Keith turned back around and put his hands back on the handles. He took one more long look at the scenery, trying hard to soak up every detail for later, as Shiro shifted behind him. Shiro’s hands found their way to Keith’s waist again, this time finding purchase under Keith’s jacket. Keith shuddered at the warmth of Shiro’s hands on his body, with only Keith’s t-shirt as a barrier. Keith collected himself best he could, and turned the hoverbike to took them back to the road.


	17. Chapter 17

The biggest city on Tabernas Station was a densely packed urban oasis. Tall buildings were covered in plants, adding a rich green to a landscape of orange and chrome. The city was just starting to wake up when Keith drove them to the city center, the first eateries unlocking their doors for the breakfast rush. 

They found a cafe high up on the terrace of an office building, and Keith picked a seat right on the railing. He closed his eyes and let the smell of the earth greet him on the breeze. 

“So I take it you like the station?” Shiro asked. Shiro hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d reached the city, and his smile only grew wider with Keith’s enthusiastic nod.

“I never expected to see anything like this out in space,” Keith said, watching large, fluffy clouds roll in, “It almost feels like … home.”

“A lot of people from the Garrison worked on this station.”

“Ah that explains it,” Keith said. He tore off a chunk of pastry and ate it, closing his eyes and moaning around the buttery dough. There were no pastries in space—and nothing that tasted this good.

Keith opened his eyes and caught Shiro watching him, trying to hide his smile behind his hand.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you smile this much,” Shiro explained, “Definitely not in the past few movements, but maybe ever.”

Keith’s heart beat faster. Shiro paid attention to Keith—despite himself, Keith liked that Shiro paid attention to him. 

_Are you still in love with him?_

“Keith, I want to ask you something,” Shiro said. He tapped his fingers on the table—metal on metal—a clear signal of some anxiety. 

“Okay,” Keith said noncommittally, watching the movement of Shiro’s fingers.

“Would you ever think about taking a more long term assignment from the Blades?”

“I’ve never thought too much about my assignments or what I’d like,” Keith said, “I just go where they tell me to go.”

Shiro leaned on his forearms on the table, shortening the distance between him and Keith. “What if I could get you posted on Atlas?” Shiro asked, “Not just as Hunk’s bodyguard, but as a _permanent_ part of the crew.”

No way would anyone let Keith take such an important and prestigious job.

“I’m probably too far down the chain of command for something like that,” Keith deflected, tearing apart another pastry, “If you asked Kolivan for a Blade, I’m sure he wouldn’t assign _me_.”

Shiro put a hand on Keith’s, stopping his absent-minded pastry destruction. “I didn’t ask Kolivan for a Blade, Keith,” Shiro said, “I asked him for _you_ , and he agreed.”

Keith’s head whipped up. “You talked to Kolivan already?”

“I wanted to make sure everything was in order before I asked you. I didn’t want to offer you a job that didn’t exist.”

Keith wanted to stand up and pace, but the other customers probably wouldn’t have liked that. Keith jiggled his leg instead. “Do I have a choice? Or will I be getting orders soon?”

“No,” Shiro said, “It’s up to you. But I think we’ll need to let Kolivan know soon.”

_We’ll need to let Kolivan know._ We.

“I’m gonna need some time … to think about it,” Keith said. 

“Of course,” Shiro said, “And Kolivan, Veronica and I put together the duties and expectations for the job, which I can send to you as soon as we’re back on Atlas. It’s mostly what you’re doing now—some security work, some acting as a go-between for the Galra, mostly looking strong and tough in your uniform …”

Shiro trailed off and Keith could swear he heard a suggestion in Shiro’s tone. Keith pushed the thought down—he must’ve imagined it. Shiro definitely wasn’t hinting that he thought Keith was hot in his uniform. 

“Okay, I’ll seriously consider it,” Keith said, desperate to get away from Shiro’s last sentence. 

“Great,” Shiro said, and his jaw splitting smile was back. Shiro checked his watch and his smile slipped away. 

“Do we need to get back?” Keith asked.

Shiro showed Keith his watch as an answer: 0248 Atlas time. Their station-imposed three hour departure interdiction would be up in twelve doboshes. If they left now, they’d be back on Atlas around 0400. Both Shiro and Keith had a meeting at 1000, so if they wanted to get a few REM cycles in, it would be better to leave as soon as possible.

The wind pushed a cloud between the city and the artificial sun—throwing a shadow over Keith and Shiro. Shiro pushed himself away from the table, and Keith reluctantly did the same. They took the elevator back down to the street, and Keith watched as more clouds gathered over the city through the glass wall. These clouds were darker and denser, their appearance the promise of a thunderstorm.

They both jumped on the bike, Shiro’s gaze anxiously trained toward the sky. Keith dove them cautiously to the edge of the city, but they were stopped by a cop and a barrier.

“Roads are closed gentlemen,” the officer said, “We don’t want y’all struck by lightning or caught in a dust storm. Ya’ll’ll have to find shelter here.”

“How long?” Shiro asked, his voice raised over the sound of the wind.

“Few vargas,” the officer replied, “Maybe longer.”

_A few vargas? Fuck._

“I’m the captain of the IGF-Atlas,” Shiro said, pulling out his ID as Keith felt the first touch of a mist-like rain, “I have to get back to my ship.”

“I don’t care who you are. No one is allowed on the roads until the storm passes.” The officer looked pointedly at Shiro’s prosthetic.

“Fine,” Shiro bit out, “Is there anywhere nearby to shelter? That’s cheap?”

The officer nodded and pointed to his left. “Pocket hotel two blocks down on 7th ave. Called The Red Mesa. Have a nice day y’all and stay safe.”

Shiro scoffed at the flippant dismissal, but Keith tore off toward 7th Avenue, racing down early-morning empty streets, as dust and sand began to blow into the city. Shiro moved his right arm so that it was under Keith’s jacket, protecting it from getting debris in delicate machinery. Keith got lucky and found a parking spot just outside the Red Mesa, and Shiro dashed inside while Keith dealt with the meter.

Bike secure, and overpriced street parking taken care of, Keith covered his eyes and pushed through the dust storm and rain into the fittingly small hotel lobby. Shiro was thanking the hotel staff when Keith found him, only slightly less dusty than Keith. A stack of clean towels were handed to Shiro with a keycard, and then they walked quickly the few steps from the front desk to the elevator, before riding in anxious silence up to the fifteenth floor. There were only four rooms per floor, and Shiro quickly matched the room number to the number on his keycard. They spilled into the room, the towels unceremoniously tossed on a narrow bed that took up half the space in the room. The other half of the room wasn’t much at all—a luggage rack on the opposite wall over a few hooks for coats or backpacks, a large window behind a dark curtain, a second bunk bed folded up above the bed, and corner big enough for a toilet and a sink with a sliding door.

“Help me get my shirt off,” Shiro said as soon as the door was closed, “I can’t let my arm or the socket get too much sand in it.”

Shiro deactivated his arm and Keith started working on the buttons of Shiro’s shirt. His fingers had difficulty gripping the buttons, but he didn’t think Shiro would appreciate Keith ripping his shirt off. Keith paused and forced himself to focus on one button at a time until all of the buttons were open and Keith was pushing Shiro’s shirt off his shoulders. 

Shiro’s naked shoulders. Keith just undressed Shiro. _Fuck_.

Shiro twisted in the small space between Keith, the wall, and the bed to reach for a towel. He passed it roughly over his head, brushing off as much dust as possible from his hair. Keith turned around and focused on his own dusty clothes. He kicked off his boots, creating small clouds of dirt as they landed on the floor. Keith pulled off his socks next and shook them out over the sink in their almost-not-a-separate-room bathroom. He hung them up, with his jacket, on the hooks and contemplated whether or not he should take off the rest of his clothes and try to wash them in the sink. His t-shirt was mostly fine, but his pants were caked with dirt.

Shiro, oblivious to Keith’s dilemma, popped open the fly to his pants and shimmied them down his legs one-handed. Down to just his heather grey briefs, he hung his pants up next to Keith’s jacket before falling onto the lower bunk and messing with his comms. 

Keith ran back to the bathroom. He put down the toilet lid and sat on it in his very dirty pants before burying his face in his hands. 

“Hey Veronica,” he heard Shiro say, “I know it’s late, but we’re stuck on the station.”

Keith couldn’t hear Veronica’s response, but Shiro denied whatever she said. “No, no, no,” he said with a laugh, “They wouldn’t let us leave the city during a storm. So can we reschedule the meeting?”

Keith grew more and more uncomfortable in his pants, but he couldn’t convince himself to take them off. Sure, Shiro had taken off his pants, but what did it mean if Keith took his off as well? Keith could handle physical discomfort, but _social_ discomfort? Never his strong suit.

“Yeah, if you push it to after lunch—yeah, about 1200–we should be able to make it,” Shiro said, “We’re going to try to get some sleep before then.”

Keith nervously ran his hands over the tops of his thighs—over the mud and debris clinging to his pants. 

_Fuck it. If I just act like it’s no big deal, then it’s no big deal_.

Keith stood up and quickly, before he could change his mind, removed his pants but left his shirt on—for safety. He walked out of the bathroom, going for nonchalance and pointedly not looking at Shiro, and hung up his pants with the rest of their clothes. 

“Okay,” Shiro said, sounding a little more distracted than before, “I’ll keep you posted.”

Pants hung up, Keith wasn’t really sure what to do with himself. He tugged on the hem on his t-shirt and looked around for … something to look at—maybe Shiro’s arm on the luggage rack—that could be interesting. Keith heard Shiro’s comms beep followed by the rustling of the blankets on the bed. 

“What are you doing?” Shiro asked. Keith turned around, and Shiro had moved to a lounging position, lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand—all muscle and naked flesh and ...

“I … don’t—there’s not really anywhere to go … in here,” Keith said, his body temperature shooting up a few degrees.

Shiro did the worst thing Keith could imagine—he patted the bed next to him and said, “You don’t have to stand around and hover. You can come sit here.”

Keith sat down with only the least amount possible of his body in contact with the edge of the bed. Shiro pulled himself into a sitting position—shoulder even with Keith’s but facing the opposite direction—only a few scant inches between them.

“I’ve had a lot of fun this morning—or this evening,” Shiro said, laughing at his own joke, “It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this.”

“Gotten stuck on a station?” Keith said, watching his fingers twist in his lap.

Shiro chuckled, and Keith felt the movement of his body. “No,” Shiro said, “having fun.”

Keith turned his head, but he couldn’t meet Shiro’s eyes. “I had fun, too,” Keith confessed, “Thank you for taking me.”

“Thanks for coming with me,” Shiro said, leaning into Keith’s space to capture Keith’s gaze, “I’d been trying to figure out how to talk to you about something, and I didn’t want to do it on the ship.” He chewed on his lip, seeming to turn something over in his mind. 

“Oh,” Keith said, “you mean the job?”

“No, I mean … something else. I’ve just had a hard time trying to figure out how to say it,” Shiro said, and it was his turn to avoid eye contact.

Keith held his breath as he felt a kick of adrenaline. He kept himself as still as possible, the anticipation of what Shiro would say almost physically painful.

“I was thinking,” Shiro started, “that I messed up when I asked if we could be friends again.”

Keith’s heart dropped into his stomach. Shiro didn’t want to be his friend after all.

“After all we’ve been through, I don’t think it was fair of me to ask you to pick up where we left off. And I don’t _want_ to pick up where we left off.”

“Oh … kay?” Keith was so confused. 

“I think we should start over,” Shiro said, more conviction in his voice now, “I want to forget everything that’s happened between us. I think … it might be best to … we should have a fresh start.”

What the fuck did “fresh start” mean? Was that better or worse than “friends again”? 

Keith took a deep breath in and pushed it out slowly, giving himself some time to think. Could they reset their relationship? Was it possible to pretend they were strangers? Was it possible to forget how well they’d known each other once? How easily they had always fit together? And did Keith even want that?

_Are you still in love with him?_ The question wouldn’t stop hounding him. When he thought of Shiro, when he was near Shiro, he felt … something—that was undeniable. Every look from Shiro, every touch, had sent Keith’s heart racing. Their time on the station was so familiar—the bike, the desert, the easy way they could just exist together. But Keith felt like he was on the edge of something new, something he didn’t know the shape of, and it was terrifying. And he didn’t know if it was love—didn’t know if love was enough.

_What does moving forward look like for me?_

Keith looked at Shiro, and tried not to belie the shapeless emotions roiling just underneath the surface. “I appreciate the offer you’re making, but that’s not what I want,” Keith said. 

Shiro looked surprised, but said nothing as he waited for Keith to continue. “I can’t just pretend that you didn’t have a major impact on my life, that you didn’t save my life. I don’t know who I’d be if we wiped that slate clean—if that’s even possible to do—and I think neither of us has really dealt with … everything that’s happened between us.”

Shiro just looked at Keith, his face set in a mask of patience. Keith noticed the jump of a muscle on Shiro’s jaw—a telltale sign of Shiro’s anxiety. Ask anyone on Atlas, and they would say that Shiro has an endless well of patience. Ask Keith, and he would say that Shiro’s good at faking it. Most people never saw the impulsive Shiro, the Shiro that jumps in with two feet, the Shiro who never took no for an answer. 

The Shiro who’d snuck them off Atlas and down to a station for a few hours. For _fun._

Keith closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Shiro. He knew this was the conversation they needed to have. He just hoped it didn’t kill him before he got to the end.

“I’ve realized something,” Keith said, eyes still firmly shut, “I’ve been saying that I left five years ago because of you. And I think that’s the easy answer, but it’s not completely true.”

Keith felt Shiro shuffle on the bed, and the steady warmth radiating from Shiro was gone. Keith chanced a glance toward Shiro, and saw him pulling into himself. Keith put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder and Shiro‘s eyes slid over to lock on to Keith’s. Keith dug deep into his chest and pulled up and out every unspoken feeling, every denied confession. 

“We were drifting apart for a while—long before your wedding, if I’m honest. I’d been so used to turning around and you were just there—my support, my friend, my …”

Keith took a break to regain some of his composure. Shiro firmly held Keith’s gaze, giving nothing away of his own thoughts or feelings. Just … waiting. 

Keith forced himself to keep talking. “You went from being everything to me to being nothing—not even my coworker. And it was the _worst_ feeling. It made me crazy—no, it made me desperate. I wanted to hold on so tight that I didn’t know what to do with myself.” Keith remembered all the little ways he tried to get Shiro’s attention—the little contrivances to force them together. And Keith remembered how rarely they worked. 

“But now I think that was only part of the problem,” Keith confessed, “Hunk, Pidge, Lance—they all had plans and places to go. And after Voltron left, after I’d worked so hard to be a good leader, I didn’t have a future. I thought I would at least have you—we’d have each other—but then you were getting engaged, and retiring, and …”

Keith swallowed—hard—forcing down the grief that had ripped threw him when he found out about Shiro’s engagement. “I didn’t know what my future was. I didn’t know where my home was. With the Blades, at least I had family.”

Shiro’s fingertips skimmed the cool skin of Keith’s thigh—an accident or a comforting gesture Keith didn’t know, but he shied away from the touch. He had to say what he had to say, and he couldn’t let Shiro distract him. 

“I’m not sorry that I went to work with the Blades,” Keith said, “I’ll never be sorry about that. But I am sorry that I broke us. I’m sorry that I didn’t know how to handle you not … feeling the way I felt.”

“Keith …” Shiro spoke for the first time in minutes. It was barely a word, more an exhale shaped like Keith’s name. 

Keith shook his head. If he let Shiro say anything, he might not be able to hold it together. “So I guess what I’m saying is”—Keith drew on every ounce of willpower and courage he possessed—“I don’t think we can start over, but I think we can move forward. I want us to move forward. But you needed to know—I needed you to know—”

Shiro’s hand cupped Keith’s jaw, the barest hint of a touch, and it stopped Keith’s babbling. Shiro looked a little surprised when his fingers grazed Keith’s face, like he hadn’t expected himself to do that. Shiro hesitated, his hand pulling back a hair’s breadth, before he seemed to make some internal decision. He traced the line of scar tissue on Keith’s cheek, sending a shiver through Keith’s body, before moving his hand from Keith’s jaw to the nape of his neck. 

Shiro leaned forward until his unsteady breathing met Keith’s. All higher functions of Keith’s brain shut down. Keith couldn’t think—couldn’t hope—all he could do was hang on, his hand coming up to hold on to Shiro’s elbow.

Then Shiro pulled, and there was no more space left between them. Shiro’s lips met Keith’s like a question. All Keith could feel were the places their bodies touched—the white hot grip of Shiro’s hand on Keith’s neck and the zap of electricity on Keith’s lips. He was paralyzed. He wanted to move but his brain sent conflicting signals—pull away, kiss back, fall on the floor and play dead.

Shiro frowned, a movement Keith felt more than saw, and started to loosen his grip on Keith. That instant of Shiro moving away, of him letting go, rebooted Keith’s system. His brain, his body, and his heart all shouted in chorus _No_! and Keith felt everything.

Keith’s hands moved to Shiro’s face, framing his delicate features with hands rough and worn. Keith pushed into Shiro, and Shiro welcomed him. He felt home.

Shiro broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Keith’s cheek. Keith kissed whatever skin he could find—Shiro’s eyelid, his ear, his temple. Keith couldn’t stop—didn’t want to try. The door was open, the lock was broken, and he couldn’t put this back inside if he tried. 

“Keith,” Shiro said between ragged breaths, “I love you.”

Keith pulled Shiro up, Shiro’s head still in his hands. “What?” he whispered.

“I love you,” Shiro said again, his eyes locked with Keith’s, “I’m in love with you.”

Keith pulled Shiro back to him, kissing him like it was the end of the world. Shiro met him, kiss for kiss, passion for passion, as his hand came up to hold Keith between his shoulder blades. Shiro kissed Keith’s cheek, before moving down to his neck.

“Damn,” Shiro chuckled, murmuring into Keith’s neck, “I should have done this five years ago.”

Keith stilled. Shiro’s mouth still moved, but it was as if an alien life form crawled on Keith’s neck. He felt numb, felt cold.

Shiro, sensing Keith’s sudden tension, pulled back. “What’s wrong?”

“What did you say?” Keith asked, his mouth unexpectedly dry. Keith brought his hands back to his own lap.

Shiro’s eyebrows met in clear confusion. “I don’t know,” he said, “I wasn’t really thinking about what I was saying—” Shiro tried to fit back into Keith’s space, but Keith stood up to put as much room between them as possible.

“You wanted to kiss me five years ago?” Keith asked, and the question felt like it was ripped out of him. “Why—you knew—you didn’t say …”

Shiro turned so that his legs dangled off the bed. He sighed and rubbed his forehead in his hand. “I didn’t know,” he said, “Or I did know, but I couldn’t trust my feelings. I didn’t know how much was my feelings, and how much was the clone’s and how much was from Black and …”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Keith interrupted. He _demanded_. 

“What if they weren’t my feelings, and then they changed,” Shiro said, “That wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Keith shook his head. His body shook. He couldn’t stop shaking. “But Curtis. You dated him—you married him. And all that time, you felt something for me?”

“Please understand,” Shiro said, “I did love Curtis. He was the person I thought I needed then. Keith, you were …”

_I was what?_ Keith vibrated with a wild energy _. I was what? Tell me, you coward_. 

Shiro bit his lip and looked around the room, searching for the right words, and tried again. “After everything I’d been through since Kerberos—being abducted by aliens, forced to fight other aliens, losing my arm, becoming a Paladin of Voltron, dying, having my soul saved by a machine ...

“I woke up in a body that wasn’t my own, with memories that weren’t my own, feelings that weren’t my own. I didn’t know what as me—where I stopped and where someone or something else started. And then comes Atlas, just when I think I’ve figured myself out, to put more thoughts and feelings in my head.” Shiro’s voice trembled with emotion. Keith wondered which one.

“I didn’t have to worry about any of that with Curtis,” Shiro said, “I didn’t know him before … the clone hadn’t known him, the Black Lion hadn’t known him. I could trust that what I felt for him was what _I_ felt.” Shiro’s hand formed a fist over his heart. He looked down and it and seemed to realize how undressed he was. He found a towel and wrapped it around his shoulders. Keith understood Shiro’s need to cover himself, his need to find some protective layer. But Keith resented him for it too—Shiro shouldn’t get protection or comfort after ripping Keith open and pulling him inside out.

“Being with Curtis was easy,” Shiro continued, “Curtis was normal. I hadn’t seen normal in so long. I thought I wanted normal.”

“And me?” Keith prompted, remembering Shiro’s earlier unfinished thought.

Shiro laughed, but without any of the joy from earlier in the day. “Keith, you’ve never been normal.”—Keith bristled, but Shiro put a hand up to stop him—“It’s something I’ve always liked about you. You’re intense. You never do anything in half measures. You’re determined and competitive and so loyal and when you love, it’s incredible. There’s no doubt when you love someone—”

Keith scoffed. “I’m full of doubt.”

“Not in your love,” Shiro said in a way that Keith could almost believe it too, “Your love is like the ocean—steady and deep and immense. It’s easy for anyone to drown in it. It’s easy for _you_ to drown in it.”

“So I was … not normal enough for you to like, but too much for you to love?” Keith asked flippantly.

“No,” Shiro said, exasperated. He groaned and rubbed his hands over his head. “I was scared—of you, of what being loved by you would do to me, and to you. You told me ‘as many times as it takes’—well, you told someone you thought was me—and I knew you would make that true, no matter the cost.”

Shiro had never mentioned that moment before. Keith had hoped it was one memory that didn’t make it from the clone. It was too honest. 

“Keith,” Shiro said, “You can be self-destructive. I know you got expelled from the Garrison for punching Iverson.”

Keith looked down at his hands. He could remember Iverson telling Keith and the other cadets about Shiro’s death. He could almost still see the broken skin of his knuckles and the dark purple bruises that took weeks to fade. He felt the rush of old emotions—the violent grief, the desperation, the helplessness.

“And I know what happened at Naxzela,” Shiro continued, “Or what almost happened before Lotor swooped in. I know you what you were trying to do …”

Shame and embarrassment overtook Keith. He had been so lost. He’d felt so small. For a moment, it had seemed like the only move ...

“And I almost lost you again when Honerva’s robeast self-destructed on Earth. Not to mention what happened at the clone facility …”

Keith shut his eyes tight, as if closing his eyes could push back the wave of memories. Of fighting Shiro—his clone—and almost dying with him. 

“I didn’t want you to throw your life away for me, Keith,” Shiro said, his voice full of tenderness, “And I felt like if we stayed on that path, one day you would. So I made a choice.”

“You picked him,” Keith said, “You were afraid of me.”

Shiro breathed in deep through his nose. “I was afraid _for_ you. I was afraid of loving someone with a death wish.”

“I didn’t have—” Keith stopped himself. He might not have had a death wish, but he had been reckless. He had felt like his life didn’t matter. He had almost sacrificed his life more than once. 

“So why tell me all of this now? I’m … the same as I ever was.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Shiro said, “But I’m not. I’ve spent the past five years missing you, thinking about what went wrong. And I know now that I’m not scared of loving you. And I’m not trying to convince myself that I need to have a certain kind of life, to settle down, all that stuff. I felt so _sure_ of my choices when I married Curtis, but I realized that I didn’t know what I wanted before.”

“And you know what you want now?” Keith asked quietly, feeling that old pull of Shiro’s gravity. 

Shiro nodded, reaching for one of Keith’s hands. Keith let him take it. “I want you, Keith. I want to be with you.”

Shiro’s words lit a fire in Keith’s belly. It tore through him like a wildfire, consuming the hurt feelings Keith had used to build up a wall around himself. Those were the words he had wanted to hear so many times, so many years ago, and now Shiro offered them up freely. 

“Do you still love me?” Shiro asked, desperate and pleading and not at all like the man everyone else sees.

_Are you still in love with him_? That was the question, the one that wouldn’t stop haunting him. There was no objective way to consider his own feelings—no diagnostics to run, no way to turn it and look at it from a different angle. He just had his feelings—part of him that never seemed to work like he wanted it to—and a moment to answer Shiro’s question. 

And in that moment, he remembered Shiro and Adam. They had been inseparable at one point—you could always find one by figuring out where the other was. He remembered following Shiro around like a lost puppy, and stealing time away from Adam and the Garrison. He’d treasure every smile from Shiro, every word of encouragement, every secret confession—that seed of love already planted. 

He remembered the time without Shiro. He had felt rudderless and so wholly out of place at the Garrison. He tried to keep up his studies, but it was hard when there was no one left who believed him in. Even before Shiro had been declared dead, he’d felt stranded on an island, waiting obediently for a ship that would never return. 

He remembered the first time someone told him that Shiro was dead. He remembered the second time, desperately looking into the Black Lion and seeing it empty. And then there was the time a body that looked just like Shiro, breath so shallow as to be imperceptible, nearly died in his cargo hold. 

He remembered every time Shiro put his hand on Keith’s shoulder, and every time Keith returned the gesture. He remembered Shiro sharing stories from his childhood—stories he hadn’t told anyone. He remembered Shiro telling Keith that he wanted Keith to lead Voltron if anything happened to him. 

Shiro _knew_ Keith—had known him since he was a teenage delinquent. Maybe Shiro had seen some reflection of himself in Keith—the loneliness, the hunger, the need to prove everyone wrong. And younger Keith, plucked out of nothing and starving for any attention idolized that younger Shiro, talented and patient and perfect.

But Keith knew Shiro, too. For all of Shiro’s talent, he wasn’t perfect, and he wasn’t patient. Shiro had worked harder than anyone else in his class to get to the top, and he’d hidden that work from everyone. He let people think it was easy for him, fighting his deteriorating body all the way. They didn’t know the Shiro who sometimes made snap decisions, the Shiro too impatient from a lack of results, the Shiro who would eventually bomb out of two relationships because he couldn’t sit still long enough. 

And five years ago, seven years ago, ten—Keith had fallen in love with him despite those flaws, and maybe a little for them. Then he’d lost that man and mourned him and found him only to lose him again. He’d saved him over and over again, and he’d lost him once more. And he’d loved him all the while. Did five years of running away and a broken heart change that?

“I don’t know,” Keith said, but as soon as the words were out of Keith’s mouth he knew they weren’t true. Of course he still loved Shiro. He could live a thousand years and have a thousand lovers, and still love Shiro. But loving Shiro, knowing that he was still in love with Shiro, didn’t change anything. Shiro had made a choice—made that choice over and over for years—and now that choice had fallen apart. Just like Keith said it would.

Had Shiro expected Keith to wait for him? To be there when Shiro decided he was ready? And how long would Shiro say he wanted Keith? How long until could Keith have Shiro before someone better comes along?

So, Keith didn’t correct himself. He left his words to hang heavily between them. 

Shiro pulled his hand back. “Oh,” he said softly. “You don’t want …”

“I don’t know what I want,” Keith said, and it was mostly true, “I would have killed to hear you say this five years ago. But now ...”

_But now I know you loved me and married someone else_. 

An emotionless mask dropped over Shiro’s features and he pulled the towel tighter around his shoulders. “I just thought … I shouldn’t have assumed that you still …”

Silence descended on the room like one of the clouds still dropping rain on the city outside the window. Keith thought of a few things to say, but the longer he didn’t speak, the harder it was to break the silence. 

Shiro sniffed, the first sound other than rain and wind in minutes. He stood up quickly, dropped the towel, and started pulling his clothes off the wall. He grimaced as he pulled his dusty shirt on. “I’m going to go get another room,” he said, staring at the ground, “I think it will be easier to get some sleep if we’re …”

“Shiro,” Keith said, “This is ridiculous. Stop that.”

Shiro halted buttoning his shirt, but he didn’t look up at Keith. Keith put his hands on Shiro’s trembling hand. “Don’t go,” Keith pleaded.

Keith helped Shiro slough off his shirt. It landed with a thump and cloud of dust on the floor. Keith ran his hands over the place where Shiro’s neck met his shoulders, warming up the cooled flesh with rough passes. He pushed Shiro back down onto the bed and tucked him under the blanket. Keith paused for a moment and just watched Shiro, his eyes still uncertain.

Keith blew out a breath and it ruffled his bangs. _What am I supposed to do now?_

Keith needed something to do so he reached up and lowered down the top bunk, locking it into place above Shiro. “Let’s take things slow,” Keith said, “Give me some time. I had no idea how you felt—I need time to figure it out.”

“Okay,” Shiro said, his voice a rough whisper.

Keith pushed Shiro’s bangs back from his forehead, finally getting to run his fingers through Shiro’s hair. Shiro leaned into the touch and he sighed softly with pleasure. Keith thought Shiro was dangerous before, but now Keith felt like Shiro was a roaring fire into which Keith was plunging his hand. Or his heart. 

“But we should sleep first,” Keith said, pulling his hand back and climbing the ladder. 

Keith settled into his bunk and waited for the sound of Shiro’s breathing to turn to soft snores. Finally, Shiro was asleep.

Keith was wide awake. And his mind was _churning_.

He pictured telling Hunk, or telling Pidge (if they were on speaking terms) or Lance or Allura. Considering that Hunk had practically picked up his friendship with Keith right where they’d left off, he’d probably tell Keith to stop overthinking things and just be with Shiro. It wasn’t a bad option. 

But the Pidge part of his brain, the grudge-holding, broken-hearted part of him, reminded him that Shiro hurt him, and hurt him because he was scared of loving Keith. That’s not exactly the easiest hurt to put aside. Lance would probably disagree with Pidge, telling Keith to forgive Shiro and be with Shiro for as long as possible. Lance went back to his first love—but she had also sacrificed and then magically resurrected herself. Maybe they weren’t the best comparison.

Shiro shifted in his sleep, and coughed softly. Keith realized how much he had been tossing and turning in his bunk. 

“You think too loud,” Shiro said, his voice thick with sleep and muffled by his pillow.

Keith leaned over the edge of his bunk and looked down at him, but Shiro’s eyes were still firmly shut. Shiro turned over and must’ve gone back to sleep. Still, Keith didn’t fall asleep for a long time.


	18. Chapter 18

Once they were back on Atlas, Keith was surprised by how little his day to day life changed. He felt like something monumental had happened to him, something he had been waiting for and dreading in equal measure, but no one else around him knew about it. He still had to go to briefings on Joraq—one on proper etiquette was especially dull. He still had most of his meals with Acxa, and the MFE pilots joined them more often than not. He still slept in his bunk during Atlas’ night cycle. He still ran out of water every morning during his shower, and argued regularly with the quartermaster to get more than two doboshes of running water. He still found his way to Hunk’s rooms in the evening, and a few nights Lance and Allura and Pidge also found their way there.

Keith’s time with Shiro didn’t increase much at all in the quintants following their station adventure, but Shiro’s attention did. Keith didn’t have to look at Shiro to know when he had Shiro’s focus—Keith could feel it in the space between his shoulder blades. That prickling, buzzing feeling was nearly constant whenever they were in the same room. 

Shiro was also more tactile. He’s gone back to his old hand-on-the-shoulder move, but added to it brushes of fingertips against Keith’s hands, gentle presses to the small of Keith’s back, and almost imperceptible grazes of his knee under the table. Every touch was a small request for more, for longer and firmer touches. But Keith didn’t know how to answer.

He couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Shiro. He would catch Shiro’s eye in a meeting and imagine shoving Shiro onto the table. Or, when he would pass the hall to Shiro’s room, Keith would remember how soft Shiro looked sitting on his bed, and how soft his lips felt. He wanted to push Shiro into wall and let Shiro push him right back. 

But then …

_I should have done this five years ago._

_Being with Curtis was easy. Curtis was normal._

_I was scared—of you, of what being loved by you would do to me, and to you._

Shiro’d had a chance to choose Keith. He knew how Keith felt, and he picked someone else. Was Keith just supposed to _let that go_? 

Keith paced in front of the door to a workroom Pidge and Matt had taken over. Keith knew Pidge was in there—thank Lance for his constant meddling—but Keith was having a hard time convincing himself to knock. He’d felt terrible the last time he talked to Pidge, but he needed to fix this. 

He took a steadying breath before shaking out his hands. He knocked three sharp raps on the door before clasping his hands behind his back. He waited, longer than he would have waited for anyone else, and then finally the door opened. Pidge peered out at him and adjusted their glasses.

“Oh,” Pidge said, looking Keith up and down in his Marmora uniform, “It’s you.”

Keith shrunk under their withering glare. They were pretty much the same size they’d been when Keith left, but Keith felt like he was the small one.

“Can we talk?” Keith said.

Pidge leaned against the doorframe, barring Keith from entering the room. “That depends on what you want to talk about.”

Keith closed his eyes and refocused himself. Pidge had always been a tough nut to crack. “I thought about what you said, and I want to talk. I didn’t come here to apologize—I came to listen to you. I want to know your side of … things.”

Pidge bit their lip and their eyes flitted over Keith’s features from behind the large, round frames of their glasses. Keith waited, his face as open as he could make it, for their decision.

Pidge turned on their heel and walked back into the workroom, but left the door open. “I’m not Hunk. I don’t have any hot chocolate or ice cream or whatever,” they said over their shoulder.

Keith tentatively stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. The room was packed with equipment; only a narrow strip of floor was clear enough to navigate. Keith took careful steps, avoiding the boxes and wires and remains of other electronics, as he walked toward a flimsy table struggling under the weight of three monitors.

Keith lost Pidge on his way back, so he tried to pick a spot that was out of the way of any equipment Pidge seemed to be actively using. He felt something crack under his boot heel and cringed. He hoped it wasn’t anything important.

“Ah _ha_!” Pidge’s voice cried out from … somewhere. Keith turned over his shoulder, trying to pinpoint where they had disappeared off to. 

“A chair!” Pidge exclaimed as they popped out right in front of Keith. Keith fell back and nearly toppled into a stack of metal crates. 

“Thanks,” he said weakly and took the metal folding chair from Pidge. Pidge sat in a much more comfortable-looking rolling chair—the kind with padded armrests and lumbar support—behind the monitors and Keith set his chair down next to the table. 

“Is this all”—Keith gestured around the room to all of the mechanical … things—“yours?”

“Nah,” they said, “the room’s supposed to be for Atlas electronic maintenance, but someone decided to put all of Atlas’ electronic junk in here. The computers are mine, but the rest of this is just in the way.”

“So you have to be in this room?”

“There’re only a few places on board that you can really access Atlas’ brain. One is where we tested the update to Atlas’ digital defense system, and the other one is here.” Pidge pointed to a large cable leading from their computer to large port on the ground. “But this is the only place that I can really get in and poke around—that is, without making the ship fall out of the sky.”

Keith chuckled. “Yeah, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that.”

Pidge smirked and it was the first smile Keith had seen directed at him since they arrived. Pidge nodded, and then looked at Keith like they were waiting for him to do something. He looked down at his boots.

“So, um,” Keith said, “How’s it’s going? The poking around in Atlas thing?”

Pidge sighed. “The code I extracted from the attack gets more mysterious the more I dig into it. I’m not even sure if it’s a hundred percent Galran anymore. I think someone wants me to think it’s Galran…”

Pidge turned back to their monitors and stared at something Keith couldn’t make out. Though, he doubted he’d understand its significance even if he knew what they were looking at. 

“Either way,” they continued, “Matt and I have contained it, and we’ve created countermeasures against anyone hacking in. But then there's the fact that it affected Shiro so much. I’m cross referencing like five sets of data and despite aaaaaaall the tests dad’s run on Shiro and Atlas, we still don’t really understand how Shiro’s connection to Atlas works. Honestly, no one has any clue how he gets her to fly.”

“But Shiro said that … I thought other people had successfully captained Atlas.”

“Successfully is … a stretch,” Pidge said, “I’ve seen the logs, and Veronica could get Atlas airborne but they were barely out of atmo when Atlas started freaking out.”

“Freaking out?” Keith asked, “How does a _ship_ freak out?”

“Flashing warning lights, shutting out access to navigation, that kind of stuff. Atlas only calmed down when they pointed her back to Earth.”

_Back to Shiro_. A small tremor shook the Atlas maintenance room, and Keith wondered if Atlas was listening—and had the same thought as Keith.

“So … you’ve been working on the Atlas technology these past, um, few years?” Keith asked. Enough stalling—time to make amends.

Pidge glared at Keith; they obviously saw right through him. “There are five new Atlas-class ships being constructed on the Hub, but I think you know that.”

Keith did know that. Almost all Blades were in and out of the Hub now that their organization wasn’t just a myth.

“I did,” Keith said, “But I didn’t know you were working on the Hub.”

“On and off,” Pidge said, shrugging. Then, they pointedly tapped a finger to their chin. “You know, I think the last time I was there it was just after a reactor blew in the Ikazadian system.”

_Shit. The Ikazadian Incident._ Another one of Keith’s fuck ups. 

The Ikazadian Incident had been a case of corporate espionage gone very very wrong. The spy had intended to just shut down a reactor on the station, but had failed so spectacularly at their sabotage, the whole reactor exploded. Keith had been assigned to track the spy, along with a few other Blades, but after the explosion and ensuing panic, only Keith had come me back to the Hub to make a report. The whole mess had been just a few phoebs for his assignment to Delta Station. 

“Oh,” Keith said in a moment of clarity, “You saw me.”

So when Pidge’d said they hadn’t known if Keith was alive or dead, they’d meant it. But instead of seeing Keith on Atlas and shouting at him after a few quintants, they’d seen him on the Hub and been angry for _months_.

Pidge scoffed. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought of you in a long time. But then I saw you, and I heard about what had just happened—you looked like complete shit, but the way—and it just made me so angry. I kept thinking—how could Keith be thiiiis close, with the most dangerous job in the galaxy short of magma mining on Toluhmahtu, and not take the time to tell anyone where he was?”

“I’m sor—” Keith started.

“I swear to the space manta ray that nearly killed us,” Pidge interjected, “If you say you’re sorry one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Sorry,” Keith said, the word slipping out by habit as Pidge gave him a hard look. “I mean … okay.”

“I don’t want you to say you’re sorry,” Pidge said, sinking down into their chair and dropping their head into their hands, “I want you to show me you’re sorry.”

Keith frowned. “What’s the difference?”

“You can say you’re sorry over and over again and still keep doing the things that make you say you’re sorry,” they explained, eyes boring into Keith’s, “Showing you’re sorry … that means listening to people you’ve hurt and making different decisions and learning from your mistakes.”

Keith wanted to say that’s what he’d been doing. He’d talked to Hunk, to Shiro, to Lance, and now to Pidge. He’d faced his decision to run away, and here he was now, sticking around on Atlas even when every instinct told him to cut and run. But he figured Pidge probably didn’t want to hear him say that—they wanted to see it for themselves. So he said nothing. 

“I’m not really angry anymore. Haven’t been for a few days now,” they said, “I talked to Hunk after our … confrontation the other day, and I can kinda see why you did what you did. If there’s anyone who understands how thinking you lost someone means you need to run off and be someone else for a while, it’s me.”

Keith grinned, and Pidge matched it with their own. It was knowing—true understanding—and Keith had almost forgotten what that felt like. 

Pidge turned away and looked at their computers, something wistful in their set of their mouth. “After Voltron, we all went our separate ways but we still talked to each other. You broke that. And even if I understand why you did what you did, it still was shitty for you to run away.”

“And now?” Keith asked, worried about their answer but needing it all the same.

Pidge shrugged. “I’m still upset with past you. But I think there’s a more self-aware present you that I might be more inclined to forgive.”

“Why?”

“I’ve talked a lot with Hunk, and it sounds to me like you’re different from who you were when you stepped on to Atlas. That Keith—I might’ve punched him. Hiding from Shiro in the toilet? Come on.”

“How do you know that?” Keith asked, panicked, “I didn’t tell Hunk that.”

“That one I got from Acxa,” Pidge said with a triumphant smirk, “Well, Acxa told Veronica and Veronica told Hunk and Hunk told me.”

Keith gaped at Pidge, and Pidge laughed so hard they nearly fell out of their chain. As their laughter died down, they looked hard at Keith. Keith felt like he was being examined for any flaws or defects—it was nerve-wracking. “Why did you want to talk to me today?”

Keith gave a little laugh. “It’s kind of weird when we’re both hanging out with Hunk but you won’t talk to me.”

“And?” they prodded, eyes lit with a knowing spark. There was Pidge’s damn inquisitive mind. It would be annoying if it weren’t so useful all of the time. Keith wondered how he gave himself away—what tell in his voice or posture Pidge had latched on to. 

“If I tell you something,” Keith said, “Do you think you could keep it between just the two of us?”

Pidge’s eyes widened in surprise. “Not even Hunk? Or Lance or Allura?”

Keith shook his head determinedly. 

“Sure,” Pidge said, a soft exhale.

Keith focused some of his nervous energy on his braid, pulling at the short tail at the end. Where to even start? “I need … advice. Maybe not advice—perspective. So I can figure out how I feel.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell someone else? Hunk’s way better at feelings than I am,” they said, a line deepening between their brows.

“No, I’m pretty sure I know what he’d say,” Keith said, shaking his head, “I want to know what _you_ think.”

They looked worried, but nodded. “Okay, go on.”

_Shit. It’s go time._

Keith sucked in a lungful of air and let it out in one long string of words. “Shiro kissed me and told me he loves me and maybe he’s loved me for like the past five years and he wants to be with me but how could he have loved me all this time and married someone else and he knew how I felt but—”

“Hold on!” Pidge said and held up their arms. “Shiro _loves_ you?”

“Apparently,” Keith said with a huff.

“And he’s loved you all this time?”

“Maybe,” Keith said, “He wasn’t super clear on the timeline. He said he was … confused for a while.”

Pidge snorted. “Of course he was. He had his consciousness shoved from one body to a magical space robot to another body.”

“Yeah, and I get that,” Keith said, “But it’s like you said. Even if I understand why he did what he did, it still hurts. He knew how I felt and he had some kind of feelings for me but he married someone else.”

“Someone he’s not married to anymore,” Pidge pointed out, “And Griffin told Hunk and Hunk told me that Curtis definitely saw you as a threat so that marriage probably wasn’t the strongest from the get-go.”

Stupid Atlas and its stupid gossip. When did people have time to get any work done?

“But he wants to be with you now,” Pidge prompted, “And you said …?”

Keith shrugged with his whole body. He felt like one big shrug. “I said … I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m still in love with him.”

Pidge gave him another one of their long, piercing looks. “I think that you’re afraid of letting yourself love him and getting hurt again. I think you’re worried that just because he says he loves you today, he might change his mind tomorrow.”

_Yes_. “Maybe.”

“So you have to make a decision,” Pidge said, leaning back in their chair, “And you wanted _my_ advice?”

“Well, I said perspective,” Keith clarified, “But … yes? You said I hurt you but you think you can forgive me. How do you get over that kind of hurt?”

“I told you already,” Pidge said, “You’re different. You’re not such a hot-headed dumbass. You talk to people when you have problems instead of running. Hunk said you initiated physical contact. And you’re here, talking to me, even though I’ve been nothing but a jerk to you since I got here.”

It was hard to accept that everyone said Keith was so different when he didn’t feel any different at all. All the things Pidge said were true, but it didn’t feel they were stating a fact. It felt like a _compliment_.

“And I know I’m maybe not the best person to give this advice, but Hunk and I talked for a looooong time the other day and ...” Pidge trailed off. They frowned as they seemed to look for the right words, and sighed. 

“Sometimes you just have to _trust_ someone. You’ll never know what’s going on in someone else’s head, but”—Pidge did some complicated shrugging—“if someone puts themselves out there and opens themselves up like Shiro did, if someone who’s trying to show you they’ve changed, maybe it’s time to trust them.”

Keith scoffed. _Trust Shiro?_ How could Keith _trust_ Shiro?

Shiro said he was different—more sure of how he felt. Shiro had been open with Keith about a lot of things, and Shiro usually didn’t tell anyone how he felt. But would Shiro always be this honest? Or would he fall back on old habits? His relationship with Curtis ended because he couldn’t tell Curtis what he wanted. He’d lied and kept things from Curtis, and their life together had fallen apart. Would that happen with Keith? Would Shiro go back to lying about how he felt?

There were still too many questions. 

“I … don’t know,” Keith said, “But thanks for the perspective.”

“Eh,” Pidge said, “Just remember that you could have asked Hunk and you picked me.”

Pidge turned back to one of their computers and started typing. A blue glow illuminated their face, but Keith thought he caught a glimpse of a reddish tinge on their cheeks. “And if it does work out, you’re welcome.”

Keith knew a dismissal when he heard one. He stood up, pushing back his folding chair and making a horrible metal-on-metal screech. He folded up the chair and put it aside, but he hesitated before leaving. “I know you don’t want to hear this,” Keith said, “But I really am sorry I hurt you.”

Pidge rolled their eyes. “If you wanna show me how sorry you are, come back tomorrow and move all this junk out of my way.”

“Okay,” Keith agreed. He was halfway to the door when he quickly turned on his heels. “And please Pidge keep this to yourself. Rizavi hates me already and I don’t want her to find out from Griffin from whoever from you.”

Pidge laughed. “As if I’d give Griffin the satisfaction. He’s been running a pool on when you and Shiro’d get together for years.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Keith whispered to himself as he walked back to the door, Pidge’s laughter following him out of the room. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today! One reason is that they really do go together, and I think they will flow together better rather than spaced out a few days. But also! This is the end of the second act of the story! 
> 
> Enjoy!

When Krolia, the final piece of the diplomatic envoy to Joraq, finally made it to Atlas, the level of fanfare as compared to what the Altean delegation received just two and a half movements earlier was somewhat muted. As in, there was pretty much just Keith and Acxa in Marmoran armor waiting when Krolia’s solo transport plane docked on Atlas in the middle of the night. 

After passing on new orders to Acxa, along with a suspiciously large wrapped package, Krolia whisked Keith away to the rooms she usually used. The Galra Quarters, as most people knew them on the ship, were a repurposed officer’s rooms with a private bathroom and one comfortably sized living space, just big enough for a bed and sitting area. Despite being occupied on several occasions by Krolia or Kolivan since Atlas left Earth, the rooms were sparse, lacking the homey touches of Hunk’s rooms or the lived-in clutter of Shiro’s.

Krolia put her things away in a small wardrobe, removing clothes folded with a military precision from her duffel and tucking them into drawers. “I’m sorry to keep you up so late,” she said, “But I’m happy to see you.”

Krolia turned to Keith and wrapped him up in a hug. A wave of calm washed over him. He was safe with her, supported in her arms. 

“Me too,” he said, half a whisper into her clavicle, and he meant it. Even after all this time—nearly a decade since they reconnected—he still couldn’t quite believe he had a mother who loved him and wanted to see him. Her love was unwavering and unconditional, a love Keith had missed out on for most of his formative years, and he still had a hard time believing it was here to stay. She hugged him tighter, almost like she could hear his subconscious worries.

She pulled out of the hug, and gave him a mischievous smile. “I have a surprise for you.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, a giant furry beast zapped into existence on Keith’s chest. Keith fell to the ground, trapped under the weight of a wolf as big as a small horse and the air in his lungs was knocked out of him from the surprise and sudden impact. He pushed his wolf off roughly, but his shove was met with a big slobbery snout in his face.

“I can’t believe you planned that,” Keith wheezed. Krolia laughed and helped Keith sit up, his wolf still half on and half off Keith’s lap. Keith steadied himself, one hand on the wolf’s withers, as the other found the spot just behind the wolf’s ear. 

Krolia joined Keith on the floor and ran her hand over the wolf’s back. “Kolivan told me you were offered a job about a movement ago,” she said softly.

Keith didn’t know what to say so he buried his face in the wolf’s ruff, the fur soft on his face. The wolf didn’t smell like much of anything, though Keith could taste metal in his mouth when he got a good whiff. It was familiar and soothing and comforting and … he _hmmed_ in acknowledgement to Krolia.

“I don’t know which way you’re leaning, but if you want my advice …” she started and then paused. She never told Keith what to do even when Keith wanted her to—probably a little leftover anxiety from abandoning him for eighteen years.

“I do,” Keith said emphatically. He hadn’t thought too much about the job—there hadn’t been any time to think about it. If he took it, he’d probably be around Shiro all the time. Is that why Shiro offered it? And would Keith taking the job send some kind of signal to Shiro about how he felt? Even if he didn’t know how he felt?

“I think you should take the job,” Krolia said, cutting into Keith’s internal panic. 

Keith pulled his head out of the wolf’s fur and looked at Krolia. “Really?”

Krolia ducked her head. “Well, my motives are a little selfish,” she said, “The IGF-Atlas is safe—safer than the jobs you’ve been assigned lately. I won’t worry so much about you if you’re stationed here.”

Keith hadn’t thought about that. He could be _settled_ on Atlas. He didn’t know what settled felt like. 

“When you left the Blades,” Keith said, “did you miss the work?”

“At first, I was a little restless,” she said, “I think the longest time I’d stayed in one place before now was when I was with your father.” Pain crossed her features for an instant, before being replaced by a wry expression. “But a regular companion is a perk of staying in one place.”

Keith mimicked barfing. “Gross. I do not want to hear about the perks of a regular companion—I already got The Talk from Kolivan and I’m scarred for life.”

Krolia giggled at Keith’s discomfort and Keith sunk back into the wolf’s fur. He wanted to sink all the way into the deep ruff, hiding away from topic of conversation. The Talk with Kolivan had been one of the most embarrassing moments in Keith’s life—Kolivan had brought diagrams and only backed off after Keith assured Kolivan that he had first-hand experience. Space was infinitely large, and it seemed like there was nowhere for Keith to escape parental and parental-adjacent embarrassment. 

Nowhere to escape the churn of gossip either. If he decided to be with Shiro, if they were together, everyone would know. And if they weren’t together, everyone would know. And if they were together but then weren’t ...

Keith swallowed hard. “What if I take the job, and … _people_ get tired of me?”

“Oh, Keith,” she said, shaking her head. She put a hand on his arm, but didn’t say anything else. He leaned into her touch and let her run her hand over his shoulders, comforting him with touch instead of words. He dropped his head on her shoulder and her hands brushed through his hair. “You don’t have to take the job,” she said, “You can come with me after Joraq, if things don’t work out here.”

“Thanks,” he said. If he couldn’t figure out what to do with Shiro, he was probably due some vacation time from the Blades. “I think—”

Keith’s comms beeped, and he frowned down at the device. They were dangerously creeping into the wee hours and the call was from Pidge. He looked to Krolia and she nodded, giving him the go-ahead to take the call.

“Pidge?” he said as he angled the comms so that Krolia wouldn’t show up on Pidge’s end.

“Keith!” they yelled over loud, driving music and people talking indistinctly in the background, “Are you still with your mom?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, fighting the urge to yell back, “Where are you? What’s going on?”

“Party in—”

“Keeeeeeeeeith!” A visibly drunk Lance pushed Pidge out of sight of the comms’ camera. “Happy New Year!” 

The image blurred and shifted and then the holographic torso of Pidge was visible again. Confetti that wasn’t there before was stuck in their short hair. “Go away, Lance,” Pidge said and the image on the comms blurred again—the comms really couldn’t take much movement. Keith looked over at Krolia, and Krolia snickered. 

“Happy New Year?” Keith asked.

“Altean New Year,” Krolia replied. She looked down at her watch, frowned in concentration and then said, “It should be just after midnight at the capital on New Altea.”

“Keith!” Pidge was back. “Come to Lance and Allura’s when you’re done hanging out with your mom!” Pidge then immediately cut the connection, leaving Keith confused, but intrigued. Keith looked at Krolia again, and she looked back at him fondly.

“Go spend time with your friends,” she said. She yawned, too big and exaggerated to be real, “And I’m tired anyway. I wouldn’t be good company right now.” Keith pushed the wolf off his lap and stood up. He helped Krolia stand up too, though she probably didn’t need the help. 

“But before you go,” Krolia said, putting her hands on Keith’s shoulders, “I should tell you that the last message you sent me was corrupted.”

“What?”

“We were able to recover the message, but someone …” Krolia paused, looking for the right words, “I can only think to describe it as someone intercepted the message, but didn’t crack the encryption so much as broke the signal.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s like if I wrote you a message on paper and sealed it up with some adhesive, but when you got it, the envelope was torn open. The message still gets to you, but it got to someone else first.”

“Why are you telling me this now? Are we compromised? Do we need to abort the mission?”

“No,” Krolia said, “There was nothing in it that whoever attacked Atlas wouldn’t already know.” Krolia brushed Keith’s bangs out of his eyes and cupped his cheek. “I just want you to be careful. I think you’re right—I think someone on this ship is causing problems. You’re about to walk into a party full of people you don’t know. You should be on the lookout.”

“Okay,” Keith said, ducking out of her hand. 

Krolia kissed Keith’s forehead. “Now, go have fun at your party.”


	20. Chapter 20

Keith arrived to the party, about four drinks behind everyone else. He slipped into the jam-packed Altean royal rooms with his wolf and barely turned a head, most people too busy dancing or drinking or shouting to be heard over the live band. He recognized a few Altean crew members in the crush of people, but he assumed most of the crowd had arrived with Lance and Allura.

His wolf spotted Hunk before Keith did, zapping away from his side and onto Hunk’s lap. Hunk laughed as he rubbed the wolf’s fur and pushed a slobbering snout out of his face. Keith pushed through the last few feet of the throng to find Hunk sitting with Pidge on a sunken semi-circular sofa similar to the one in Hunk’s rooms.

“‘s good to see you too, Kosmo,” Hunk said. 

“That’s not his name,” Keith said like a reflex, and Hunk and Pidge jumped out of their seats to grab him and hand him a drink of … something smelling sickly sweet in a silicone cup.

“Happy New Year!” they said in unison, and encouraged Keith to shoot back his drink with them.

Keith felt like a film was left in his mouth after drinking “What is that?” he asked.

“Junilor, or distilled Altean Juniberry nectar,” Pidge said as they removed the empty cups from Hunk’s and Keith’s hands and replaced all three with full ones from a tray on a nearby table. Pidge inelegantly thunked the rim of their cup with Keith’s and Hunk’s before taking another shot. Hunk followed, and both eyed Keith until he shrugged and poured the contents of the cup down his throat. Keith ran his tongue over his teeth—it was worse the second time.

“This is awful,” Keith shouted, “And I thought nunvil was bad.”

Hunk shrugged. “It’s traditional. It’s a Juniberry Year.”

“Juniberry Year?”

“Yeah, there’s a fifteen-year cycle of Altean years—each named after an Altean plant or whatever,” Pidge explained, “Now it’s a Juniberry Year, so we throw a rager and drink junilor ‘til dawn.”

“What are they other years like?” Keith put a steadying hand on his wolf’s shoulders as the effects of junilor started to make themselves known. 

“Two years ago was a Payille Year,” Pidge said, “Payille is a tree fungus, so we ate boiled mushrooms and reflected on our personal failings of the past year.”

“Fuck,” Keith said, falling onto the couch with Hunk and Pidge, “I’m glad I missed that one.” He sipped on his drink—when had he gotten another drink?

“Last year I was on New Altea for New Year’s,” Hunk added, “And it was a Hika Year—that’s a purple gourd that’s made into fifty small soup courses you eat at a formal dinner.”

“I’m not sure I’d like that much better than the mushroom year one,” Keith said. Hunk snorted into his cup, spraying junilor on his face, and it set Keith and Pidge off. 

Keith and Hunk and Pidge drank and talked and drank some more. The wolf arranged himself on the couch next to Keith, his snout on Keith’s lap, and looked up plaintively until Keith started to scratch his head. Eventually, Lance joined them, much further along than any of them, and dropped himself on the couch on the other side of the wolf. He barely greeted Keith before resting his head on the wolf’s hip and passing out. As soon as he was snoring, Pidge produced a marker from who knows where and began augmenting Lance’s mustache in a way that would make Coran envious. 

Keith watched them, surprised to find himself smiling. It was so stupid and childish—it was so _fun_. 

Hunk and Pidge wandered off somewhere once there was no more of Lance’s exposed skin to cover with doodles, and Allura found Keith shortly after. She sat down and nudged Keith. “Careful,” she said, “If someone sees you smiling like that, it’ll ruin your dark and mysterious reputation.”

“I don’t have a dark and mysterious reputation,” Keith said.

“Well, not anymore,” she said with a laugh. She looked as regal as ever—much better dressed and more composed than anyone else in the room—as she held herself a little apart from the rest of the crowd. It wasn’t exactly unexpected, but Keith was disappointed not to see her letting go—even if just for a moment. Keith hadn’t seen much of her playful side since she’d returned from the dead, and he missed that part of her.

She took a dainty sip from a tall metal flask in her hand instead of the silicon cups in everyone else’s.

“Not drinking?” Keith asked, pointedly looking at the flask.

“I had the customary two drinks to begin the festivities,” Allura said, “And that was plenty. I am the sovereign of a whole planet, after all.”

“And what about Lance?”

Allura looked at her snoring husband, and grimaced. “The royal consort is expected to share in the festivities with representatives from all fifty Altean provinces. About twenty-two provinces are represented on the ship, and he only got to thirteen.”

Keith looked at Lance and grimaced with her. “Well, he tried.”

Allura’s grimace turned to a fond smile. “That he did,” she said with such affection and warmth it made Keith’s heart ache. Allura had been through _so much_ —both Allura and Lance—and they’d come out of it alright on the other side. They’d grown and changed, probably as much together as apart. If they could make it work, after Lotor and death and resurrection and running a planet and a _baby_ , maybe Keith could, too. Maybe he wasn’t so hopeless after all.

One moment Lance was dead asleep, and the next he was sputtering as his wolf hip pillow vanished out from underneath him and he crashed onto the couch. Allura ran over to him to make sure he was okay, but Keith stood up and looked around, trying to find the person his wolf had gone to greet. He wobbled as he stood, the junilor he’d been nursing shooting straight to his legs, and tried to focus enough to scan the crowd.

He found his wolf with his fore paws up on a man’s shoulders—on _Shiro’s_ shoulders.

Keith felt his face heat up as he watched Shiro’s hands ruffle the wolf’s fur, remembering Shiro’s hands on his body. Shiro even had that same sleep-soft look to him, with his slightly tousled hair and wide-open expression.

They hadn’t been alone together since Tabernas, and Keith had no idea how to act around him. Shiro said something to the wolf—something swallowed up in the noise of the party—and then the two of them materialized inches from Keith.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro said. He smiled at Keith, his hands tucked casually in the pockets of a pair of artfully ripped jeans under a faded black Voltron Coalition tee. Casual looked good on Shiro. Everything looked good on Shiro.

“Hi,” Keith more exhale than actual speech. He cleared his throat. “I would think that the captain of Atlas wouldn’t be caught dead at a raucous all-night party.”

“The captain of Atlas happens to enjoy raucous all-night parties,” Shiro said, just on this side of flirtatious, “Especially when he has the day off and he only has to walk across the hall to get home.”

Keith laughed, but mostly because he didn’t know what else to do. He looked over his shoulder, and saw Allura fireman-carrying Lance to the bedroom. He then looked over to where he’d last seen Hunk and Pidge, and found them engaged in what was probably a drinking game with a few Altean crew members. 

“Um,” Keith said, finally turning back to Shiro and not knowing what else to say, “Do you want a drink?”

Shiro shook his head. “I’ve probably already had too many. I feel like I’ve done a shot with every Altean crew member at this point.”

That would explain Shiro’s slightly wobbly appearance—he was drunk.

“So you’ve been here a while?” Keith asked, kicking himself for resorting to awkward small talk.

“What?” Shiro said and leaned in closer to Keith. _Fuck_ , Keith could smell Shiro’s aftershave. That woodsy, spicy small was definitely not Coalition regulation soap.

“I said,” Keith said into Shiro’s ear, “You’ve been here a while?”

Shiro nodded and Keith felt Shiro’s stubble brush his cheek. “You?” Shiro asked, his breath caressing the shell of Keith’s. 

Keith swallowed. This was way too intimate for a New Year’s party. “Long enough,” he said.

Shiro pulled back and gave Keith a look that was hard to immediately decipher. Shiro looked around before seeming to make a decision. He moved back into Keith’s space, his mouth even closer to Keith’s ear than before. “You want to get out of here?”

It was such a cliché, but there was no mistaking what Shiro was asking. The words shouldn’t have made Keith’s heart beat faster or his palms sweat, but … 

What if Shiro really was different? What if Shiro had really figured out how to be a good partner? What if Keith could trust this new Shiro’s words as much as he wanted to? 

“Okay,” Keith said, his speech faster than his brain. He could always blame it on the junilor.

As soon as the word was out of his mouth, he could feel Shiro thrum with energy. Shiro reached out for Keith’s hand, and tugged, trying to lead them out of the Altean room. Keith shook his head, and put their linked hands on his wolf’s back. 

With a thought they were in Shiro’s living room, and the sudden silence made Keith want to pop his ears. Shiro looked at Keith hungrily and Keith sent his wolf away with another thought—he’d be fine with Krolia for another night. 

Cosmic wolf gone, they crashed into each other, their bodies meeting in hard presses and rough grabs of the closest articles of clothing. Shiro unbuckled Keith’s Marmora armor with surprising deftness before roughly shoving it off Keith’s body. Keith got two hands on Shiro’s face and pulled him into a sloppy kiss as Shiro unzipped the undersuit and peeled it off Keith’s shoulders. Keith had to let go long enough for them to push it down to Keith’s waist together, but then their lips met again, just as wild as before. 

Keith tried to think—he really did try—but between the effects of the junilor and feeling of Shiro’s hands on his naked chest, objective thought didn’t stand a chance. He let Shiro lead them to his bedroom, let Shiro push him down on the bed, let Shiro kneel over Keith.

“You’re just so hot,” Shiro said as he drank in a half-naked Keith lying on his bed, “ _So hot_.”

Keith wanted to laugh. “Me?”

Shiro thumbed Keith’s nipples, sending jolts of pleasure to Keith’s groin with each pass. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how attractive you are,” Shiro said, “I mean—the hair, the abs, that ass …” Shiro punctuated his sentence by grabbing said ass.

Keith did laugh then. “Lance mentioned something about my ass, but I thought he was messing with me.”

Shiro’s hands moved over Keith’s body like he couldn’t settle on touching any one part of Keith. He splayed his hands wide on Keith’s belly and slowly dragged them down …

“He probably was,” Shiro said, his hands finding Keith’s ass again, but this time under the fabric of Keith’s suit, “but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

Keith flushed—he could feel the heat creeping up from his sternum. Uncomfortable with the compliment, he opted for his favorite tactic: deflection. He pushed Shiro’s hands away and tugged off Shiro’s old t-shirt. Shiro’s body was perfection itself, and he looked at Shiro like he was a miracle—was this how Shiro’d looked at him?

Then Shiro was kissing him again, his body lowered onto Keith’s. Keith felt the tangle of Shiro’s legs with his own, and then, a hard line on Keith’s hip. He felt like he was being sucked into Shiro—Shiro was a black hole and Keith was being sucked in.

And then his mind was back on the the Biome Station, back in the moment when Shiro had told him _everything_ , feeling that combination of anger and frustration and helplessness in the wake of Shiro’s confession. Shiro’s words were like knives in his chest, the twin pains of confessing old feelings and admitting the decision not to act on them.

Just as quickly as that memory surfaced, it disappeared and was replaced with the attack on Atlas. Shiro’s body on Keith’s no longer felt comforting and romantic, as he remembered all of Shiro’s bulk and weight being used to crush and break Keith. The face of that Shiro—the sinister red twist of his mouth—was all Keith could see when he closed his eyes. 

Keith panicked. He pushed at Shiro’s shoulders, until Shiro stopped kissing him. Shiro sat back on his heels, confusion all over his face, as Keith sucked in lungfuls of air. 

“This is wrong,” Keith said between juddering breaths, “I’m sorry.”

Shiro helped Keith sit up on the side of the bed, but his confused expression was replaced by that terrible shut off neutral look. _Fuck._

Keith ran his hands over his face and then into his hair. His mind cleared and he realized what a mistake it all was. He shouldn’t have accepted Shiro’s invitation. “I’m drunk,” Keith said, “You’re drunk. I don’t want to … give you the wrong impression.”

“The wrong impression?” There was something angry or frustrated in Shiro’s voice, “What does that mean?”

“I mean—I don’t know what I mean,” Keith said with a groan. Keith met Shiro’s eyes, and saw how desperately Shiro needed an explanation. “I want you, Shiro. I want to do this”—Keith gestured between them and to the bed—“with you. But ...”

Keith felt his words fall between them like lead. Shiro didn’t say anything—Keith needed Shiro to say something. Instead, Shiro gnawed on a fingernail before sighing and putting his shirt back on.

 _Fuck_. _I’m such a fuck up._

“I’m sorry,” Keith said again.

“I don’t know what the problem is,” Shiro said hotly, “I told you I love you, and you agreed to come here with me. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what I was asking, Keith.”

Keith would have laughed at Shiro at any other moment. If he thought Keith was giving him mixed signals, it was because he’d learned it from Shiro all those years ago.

“I know. I did know—what you were asking,” Keith said, “And I shouldn’t have agreed to it.”

Shiro took a deep breath in and blew it out noisily. “Because you don’t love me,” Shiro said.

“No,” Keith said, and then added, “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Shiro looked like he was ready to take a space walk without a suit. Keith probably looked about the same, if he were honest.

Keith tried again. “It’s not that I don’t love you, Shiro. It’s like … you say you love me now, but how do I know you’ll love me tomorrow?” Emotion bubbled and boiled just under the surface, and Keith pushed it down. “Before, I felt like the problem was that I just couldn’t take your rejection. But now that I know you had feelings for me even before you got married, I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Keith couldn’t look at Shiro, but he could feel Shiro’s hurt coming off him in waves. 

“Fuck, Keith,” Shiro said. Keith had never heard Shiro say that word. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t undo—”

Keith put his hand on Shiro’s, and Shiro shut up. “I know.”

Shiro turned his hand over in Keith’s, a small invitation. Keith wanted to take it—he took back his hand instead.

“Show me you love me,” Keith said, moving his hands to sit on them, “Show me I can rely on your love.”

Shiro gave him a pained look. “How do I do that?”

Keith shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess—don’t push. Just, let me set the pace for now.”

Shiro bit his lip and nodded.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Shiro said softly, “I guess I thought you’d jump into my arms.”

“And into your bed?” Keith said archly. 

Shiro chuckled, and breathed a soft yeah. 

“I don’t want to fuck this up,” Keith said, putting as much sincerity as he could muster into his voice, “I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

“I think … it’s a little late for that,” Shiro said, regret seeping into his voice. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand. “It’s getting late …”

Keith stood up. “I’ll go.”

Shiro stood too, and only inches separated them. Keith thought about saying fuck it and then fucking Shiro. He could close that gap in an instant, and then Shiro wouldn’t hurt so much and that ache inside Keith would finally disappear. 

_For a night, maybe. But then what?_

Keith slipped his undersuit back up his shoulders instead. He walked back out into the living area to put his Marmoran armor back on.

“I’ll walk you out,” Shiro said and put out one hand to guide Keith out. Earlier that day, he might have put that hand on the small of Keith’s back, but now it hovered just behind Keith, close enough that Keith could feel it’s warmth.

Keith paused when they reached the door to the hall. “We can talk tomorrow if you want,” Keith offered.

“I think … I need to think,” Shiro said, “So maybe in a few days.”

Keith nodded. “Okay.”

Shiro nodded back. The longer Keith stayed, the more emotionally fragile Shiro looked. Again, Keith wanted to apologize, to kiss Shiro and make it better. But he stepped out of the door instead and walked back to his bunk.


	21. Chapter 21

Keith woke up in his bunk only a few vargas after leaving Shiro’s room—emotionally wrung out, a little hungover, and surprisingly aroused from a dream he couldn’t quite remember. He rolled onto his back, intending to take care of himself, when the door of his bunk was pushed up from the outside. Keith immediately pulled his hands out of his pants and held them up as if to gesture surrender.

A young woman—ship maintenance by the patch on her shoulder—blinked up at Keith. “What are you doing in my bunk?” she asked, not bothering to pitch her voice down for the benefit of the sleeping crew.

“This is my bunk,” Keith said. He pointed around the bunk to the few things he kept in it—a tablet, an old sweatshirt, a reusable water bottle with his name in block letters. 

“No,” she said, her surprise quickly turning to annoyance, “It’s _my_ bunk and here’s the proof.” She climbed up into the bunk, shoved her tablet in Keith’s face with her orders, and started grabbing Keith’s things. 

“Hey!” Keith objected as she pulled up his sheets and put his stuff in them. She tied it off at the top, making a slapdash bundle and pushed it into Keith’s arms. 

“Now get out—it’s my bedtime,” she said, shooing Keith out of his bunk. Keith protested, but somehow, he ended up standing on the ground, holding his things, and watching her make the bed with new sheets.

The door of the bottom bunk rolled up and Acxa glared at Keith. “What are you doing?” she asked in a loud whisper.

“I just got kicked out of my bunk,” he whispered back.

“What?” Acxa looked up and saw the woman making Keith’s bed—or her bed now—and whistling a little song.

“My bunk was reassigned,” Keith said, “That’s what her tablet says.”

Acxa rolled out of her bunk and threw a sweatshirt over the tank top and leggings she was sleeping in. “Okay, I’ll help you figure this out, but mostly because you’re much quieter than my new neighbor.”

Said neighbor scoffed, but didn’t look at Acxa. 

“Let’s store your things for now,” Acxa said, walking quickly to the locker room. Keith followed, but not before shooting a glare at the crew member who stole his bunk. Once in the locker room, they were greeted by the sight of a junior officer emptying out Keith’s locker and dumping the rest of his things on the floor.

“Hey!” Keith said, this time not feeling so bad for raising his voice, “That’s my locker. You can’t just dump everything out of it!”

“Actually I can,” the officer said, “This isn’t your locker anymore.” He pulled the locker door closed just enough so that Keith could see the screen on the door. Where it once said “Keith—BoM,” it now read “Kealoha, P.—Artillary.”

_Fuck_.

Keith found his duffel on the floor and started throwing clothes and gear haphazardly into the bag. Acxa silently took the rest of his things from the locker and put those in the duffel, too. And, just like that, Keith was homeless again.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

“What’s going on?” he asked Acxa. 

“It’s gotta be an error,” she replied, “Come on. Let’s go find the quartermaster and figure this out.”

The quartermaster, a six-armed Aurelian sitting in a booth in a corner of the lounge, had no interest in figuring it out. “Not in system,” he said, showing Keith and Acxa one of his many screens, “Can not give bunk if not in system.”

“But he was in the system before,” Acxa explained, “He had a bunk, and a locker. Can’t you put him _back_ in the system?”

“No,” the quartermaster said with a shrug of all six shoulders, “Can not control system.”

Keith growled. He pushed past Acxa and grabbed a fistful of the Aurelian’s uniform. “You know me! We have fought almost every day for _phoebs_ over shower time allotment. You can’t find a bunk for me?”

The Aurelian was unphased by Keith’s outburst. “Not my problem,” he repeated.

Acxa pulled Keith off the quartermaster, and Keith stewed in his frustration while Acxa put on her most charming face. “And who does control the system?” she asked.

“Personnel,” he said, “On beta deck in administration.”

Personnel _. On the other fucking end of the ship. Of course_.

Keith sighed. “You don’t need to come with me,” he said to Acxa, “I’m sure it’s just a system error and it will be an easy fix. No need to hike all the way there with me.”

She eyed him, but didn’t argue. He shouldered his duffel and walked to the door … which did not open. He waved his hand at the sensor, tried backing up and walking toward it again, and still the door didn’t open.

“What are you doing?” Acxa asked.

“Door won’t open,” Keith said. He tried the override switch, but the usually automatic doors remained firmly shut.

Acxa walked over to Keith, but before she even got to him, the doors pulled apart with a soft whoosh. “Maybe I should come with you,” she said, “Just in case.” 

Keith nodded and let her lead the way out of his (former) sleeping quarters and down the hall toward the main artery of the ship. A small barricade halted their progress at the end of the hall, and standing next to it was Officer Kalaz, a tall, grizzled Galran security officer who smiled as soon as she saw Keith and Acxa. Kalaz had been a Blade once, and had known Krolia for ages. Even though she’d settled down on Atlas, she was always happy to see the next generation of Marmorans.

Keith and Acxa held up their IDs for her—standard procedure since the attack on Atlas—an she touched each of them with a small badge reader. But when she touched Keith’s the machine turned red and an alarm went off on her tablet.

“Acxa, you’re fine,” Kalaz said, “But it says that Keith doesn’t have permission to pass—actually, it says he doesn’t have permission to be on the ship.”

Keith growled again. “Here too?”

“That’s what we’re trying to fix,” Acxa said to Kalaz over Keith’s grumbling, “He’s not showing up in the system anymore, so we’re trying to get to Personnel to figure out what happened.”

“Oh, he’s in the system,” Kalaz said, “My system—the one that tells me who not to let on the ship. It says I should take Keith into custody.” 

Keith, feeling that his usual English curses were starting to lose their meaning, let out a long string of Galran curse words. 

Kalaz chuckled at Keith’s creative swearing before adopting a more conciliatory tone. “Usually, I would just let you go about your business,” she said, “But since the attack, we can’t be too careful. I have to at least call my CO.”

Keith squeezed his head in his hands. One system error, and it was so pervasive, he couldn’t even get to the part of the ship to fix it! There was probably only one person who could escort him to Personnel without causing a problem at every checkpoint. But after last night, would Shiro even want to see Keith? Shiro wanted time to think—and Keith _needed_ space to even figure out what he wanted. 

But it’s not like Keith had much of a choice. He could get Shiro down here or be taken to Atlas jail—calling Shiro just barely won out. “Why don’t you just call Shiro?” Keith asked, the question muffled by his hands.

Kalaz cocked her head at Keith. “Shiro?”

“He means Captain Shirogane,” Acxa explained, “Tell your CO to contact the captain, and tell him that there’s an issue with Keith—and make sure to mention Keith. Trust me, it will make this whole process faster if your CO get’s Keith’s name plus the word ‘problem’ to the captain.”

Keith leaned on the wall and slowly slid to the floor, glaring at Acxa all the while. 

“Oh,” Kalaz said, blushing before lowering her voice, “Was he the one in the captain’s rooms …”

“Yep,” Acxa said, not bothering with whispering, “that was him.”

Kalaz leaned closer to Acxa. “And we’re sure he didn’t … I’m not trying to accuse but …”

“He didn’t attack the ship,” Acxa said, “He’s a pilot, not an engineer. The only computers he knows how to work are the ones in cockpits. And even then...” 

Seemingly placated, Kalaz called her CO and passed on the request to contact Shiro. It took a little convincing to get the CO on board, but then everyone was told to sit tight until someone came to pick them up.

That someone was Shiro himself, who arrived in jeans and a sweater, looking flushed and out of breath. Looking like he ran the whole way there.

Now Keith really wanted to know what Kalaz’s CO said to Shiro.

“What happened? What’s the problem?” Shiro asked, his eyes darting between Keith and Acxa and Kalaz. Acxa gave Keith a sly look, and Keith rolled his eyes at her.

Lieutenant Kalaz explained the scanner message and Acxa told Shiro about the confrontation with the quartermaster. Shiro listened to them both patiently, only asking each of them a few questions, but his eyes kept slipping over to look at Keith, in his pathetic and frustrated state on the floor. After the first few times that their eyes met, Keith became very interested in a frayed thread on his duffel. Even looking away, he could still feel the weight of Shiro’s gaze on him.

Once the situation was all laid out, Shiro snapped into commander mode. “Thank you Officer. You can tell your CO that I will take Keith to Personnel, and that I will be responsible for him until this system error has been resolved.”

_Responsible for him?_ Keith didn’t like the sound of that.

“Acxa,” Shiro said as he turned to her, “I’m relieving you of your, uh, Keith duty. You may return to whatever the Blades have assigned you to do.”

Both Kalaz and Acxa saluted Shiro before going back to their business—though Acxa’s salute also included a little snicker. And then Keith was through security and on his way to Personnel. With Shiro. Who kept trying to carry Keith’s duffel for him. 

“Do you want to stop at my room?” Shiro asked, his pace somewhat too leisurely for Keith’s liking. Though maybe he needed a break after running the whole way there. “We can put down your duffel.”

Thinking about Shiro’s room make Keith’s skin hot all over, and not entirely in a good way. Sure, he could still feel his skin tingling with the memory of Shiro’s touches, but added to that was the lurching roil of embarrassment in his gut of giving Shiro _blue balls_. 

_Oh yes,_ Keith thought, _let’s return to the place I sexually rejected you for the second time less than a day ago. That sounds_ fun _._

“No thanks,” Keith said as he adjusted the duffel strap on his shoulder, “I just want to get this mess over with.”

“Then, at least let me carry your bag,” Shiro offered, holding out his metal arm to take the strap.

Keith tightened his grip on his bag. “I got it,” he said and put a little more space between them. Keith immediately regretted it. Shiro’s face crumpled into an expression of pain and frustration. And that’s when Keith realized what an idiot he was. He had been thinking that he needed to be responsible for his own shit. But that’s not what Shiro was thinking. Keith had asked Shiro to show his love, and that’s what Shiro was trying to do. He was trying to show Keith that he cared, that he recognized the morning had been difficult for Keith and he wanted to lighten Keith’s load, even if it was something small like taking his bag, even after Keith had hurt him. 

And, of course, Keith fucked it up.

Keith slowed his pace and pulled the bag off his shoulder. He held it out toward Shiro and said, “Here.”

Shiro took the bag from Keith, holding it like it was something precious and not a mass-produced Blade-issued canvas sack. Shiro flushed slightly as he settled the bag’s strap on his shoulder, the one without the port.

Keith thought about adding that he could take it back if it got too heavy, but he supposed it might lessen Shiro’s gesture, so he held his tongue. They talked very little as they traversed the ship, mostly keeping to themselves. Neither of them brought up the night before—not even to talk about the party or the ongoing festivities scheduled for the next few quintants. 

Finally, after passing two more checkpoints, passage through both requiring Shiro put on his captain voice to assure the security officer that Keith wasn’t a threat, they were in the section of the ship reserved for ship administration. There were offices for Human Resources, IT, Payroll, Supply Management and Logistics—and tucked in between HR and Payroll was the Office of Personnel. Shiro approached the door first and it opened automatically, like almost every door on the ship was supposed to open. Keith slipped in behind him, right at his heels, afraid that the door would quickly shut behind Shiro, locking Keith out. 

There was a friendly human-looking woman sitting behind a tall desk. Her long dark hair was pulled up into a tight bun at the crown of her head, and from the back, she might have been mistaken for a human. But one look from her eyes, with their bright neon purple irises and two pupils in each eye, would have given her away

She started when Shiro walked through the door, and hastily stood up to salute him with a lopsided, unpracticed salute. 

“Captain!” she said, “What are you doing here?” She colored after the words slipped out of her mouth—bright neon purple cheeks to match her neon purple eyes—before smoothing down her all-white uniform and speaking again. 

“I mean,” she said, “How can I help you?” Her earlier shock was erased, and a pleasant, slightly vacant, expression took its place.

Shiro stepped to one side to gesture to Keith. “This is Keith. He’s been on the ship for a few phoebs as the Galactic Coalition Representative’s bodyguard, but this morning, all of his information disappeared from the system. He was kicked out of his bunk, and he can’t even really get around the ship.”

Shocked concern replaced the woman’s vacant expression. “Well, I can certainly help you with that”—she turned to Keith—“Do you still have your intake paperwork?”

“Ummm,” Keith said. Acxa had taken care of their intake when they arrived, but he didn’t know where she’d gotten it from. 

Sensing Keith’s uncertainty, the Personnel officer jumped in without hesitation. “Of course we can still process your request without that paperwork,” she said with a reassuring wave of her hand, “The intake paperwork just autofills the boxes.”

Keith let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Okay,” he said to her. She sat back down on the high chair behind the desk and started clicking around on her keyboard with a speed and efficiency Pidge would be envious of.

She asked for Keith’s IGF-Atlas badge, as well as any other identifying documents he had on him. Keith dug through his bag and pulled out his Galran passport, and gave it to her with his badge.

“Perfect!” she said with probably too much enthusiasm for identification documents. She carefully examined the documents, and copied the information from them into what seemed like hundreds of fields on her computer. Despite her assurances of “just a few more minutes!” the process took forever. 

After the third “almost done now!”, Keith leaned against the tall desk, his arms crossed over his chest. Shiro mimicked Keith’s pose, and put on a deep scowl, which Keith guessed was what his face was doing. Keith uncrossed his arms and tried to school his face in a more neutral expression and Shiro silently laughed.

Finally, the clacking of keys stopped. “All I need to do is hit enter,” she explained cheerfully, “And Keith will be back in the system!” She pressed the enter key with a little flourish, but then her computer made a low, descending chime—the universal sound of computer trouble. She frowned and the computer, scrolled back through her work, and tried to submit again, only to be met by the same chime. 

Keith looked at Shiro, who also was frowning at the computer. _What’s going on?_ Keith thought.

“There seems to be a computer issue,” she explained after a third looking over and submission attempt, her cheerful demeanor slipping ever so slightly, “Let me call IT and we’ll have his resolved in no time.”

So Keith and Shiro waited while IT was called and another similarly-uniformed young woman was dispatched. They sat on the uncomfortable chairs in the corner of the office, while both young women ran diagnostics, tried to reinput Keith’s information, and checked other entries in the system. 

Keith’s stomach grumbled, so loud that even the women across the room could hear it. They giggled before returning to their work. 

Shiro nudged Keith with his shoulder to get Keith’s attention. “Want me to go get us a snack?” Shiro asked.

Keith wanted to say yes—he hadn’t eaten anything all day. After crossing the whole ship to get to Personnel, and now waiting for an eternity to get back in the system, they were very near midday. But Keith shook his head. Keith was sure that the moment Shiro stepped out of the door to get food, he would be needed for something from the two women across the room. Better not to risk it, because Keith was sure that his comms would work for him about as well as the automatic doors. 

Finally, the woman from IT came around from behind the desk to talk to them. “I’ve done everything I can think to do,” she said, “but we just can’t get Keith back in the system. We’ll reboot the personnel file system tonight during the third shift, and see if that does anything.”

“So, what do I do now?” Keith asked, trying not to sound so annoyed but failing. 

“We can issue you a temporary badge,” said the personnel officer, “which will get you past security, but it won’t get you a bunk.”

Keith wanted to scream, but he held it in. _Typical_.

“What about the doors?” Shiro asked. “Those should work for anyone on board.”

Shiro’s question was met with shrugs from the two women. “Maybe Keith did something to piss off the ship,” the woman from IT said. Her joke was met with half-hearted chuckles, but she didn’t seem to mind the tepid response. “But it’s probably because he’s been flagged as a security risk. You can stop by the IT office and talk to someone who works on the security systems and they can give you a better answer—security is not in my wheelhouse.”

Shiro thanked the two women. He said he’d escort Keith around for now and wait to take further steps until the system reset. They left the Office of Personnel with Keith’s temporary security badge and more frustration than when they’d arrived. 

Keith held up his temporary badge, an index card sized blue transparent screen attached to a metal clip. “This is great and all,” Keith said, “but where am I going to sleep? Krolia’s room is way too small for two people and a cosmic wolf.”

Shiro didn’t say anything as he led them away from the administration, but gnawed uncharacteristically on his lip.

Keith continued his musings. “Do you think Hunk would let me crash with him? He’s got the couch, though its shape isn’t the best for sleeping. Or what about Lance and Allura? I know they’ve got a ton of rooms, but they also have a large staff—“

“Stay with me,” Shiro interrupted. He looked at Keith like he had surprised himself, and his cheeks turned pink. 

“Are you sure?” Keith asked.

“I have a second room,” Shiro said, “I’m mostly using it for storage right now but ... there’s a bed in there.”

Keith paused. Shiro wanted to take care of Keith. Shiro wanted Keith to have somewhere to sleep that wasn’t on the floor or the couch of someone else’s room. But Keith still felt all hot and cold when he thought about what they’d almost done in Shiro’s room. He also didn’t want to take advantage of Shiro. Keith didn’t want Shiro to hurt so that Keith was comfortable.

“I don’t want to make things weird,” Keith said, “I don’t want it to be awkward for you.”

“It won’t be,” Shiro shook his head. “So, you’ll stay with me?” 

Keith agreed despite himself, and Shiro smiled.

* * *

Shiro wasn’t kidding when he said he used the second room for storage. Taking up most of the room were several towers of boxes carefully stacked and secured to each other and the floor. Keith realized that these boxes were probably all the things Shiro’d had from his life on Earth—his life with Curtis.

With a little rearranging, and taking a few boxes into Shiro’s bedroom, they were able to lower the murphy bed from the wall and secure it with magnets to the floor. Keith’s wolf sniffed around the room nudged a few boxes with his snout, before curling up on the bed and dozing. Keith dropped his duffel next to the wolf and looked around the room, while Shiro stepped out of the room to call for clean linens and extra pillows. Keith wasn’t really sure what this room was meant for. An office? A guest room? A room for family members? But he was grateful for it. It had cabinets and drawers and a desk and a screen for something—much more than Keith probably needed. Keith opened all the doors, but he couldn’t find the one thing he was looking for—a bathroom. Keith wondered again what Sam Holt’d had in mind for this suite of rooms with its one bathroom, only accessible through the other bedroom.

“The quartermaster for this part of the ship is sending a runner over with fresh linens,” Shiro said, leaning on the doorframe, “And soap and shampoo and that kind of stuff.”

“You don’t need to stay,” Keith said, “I’m sure that the runner can open the doors. You’re probably needed on the bridge.”

Shiro shook his head, a small wry smile on his lips, and gestured to his outfit. Keith had been staring at Shiro’s sweater for hours, but it took Shiro pointing it out for Keith to realize it was the same one from their trip to Vosgarian station, the invitingly touchable plush one. “It’s my day off, remember?”

Keith’s ears burned. Of course. Shiro told Keith it was his day off, before inviting Keith to ...

“Oh, yeah, cool,” Keith said. He did not sound _cool_.

Keith wished he had something to do to get out of this conversation, but there wasn’t much to do in the room except put his things away. So, he opened a drawer and started folding his clothes into it, much neater than he would have done if not supervised. 

“Do you need any help?” Shiro asked, taking a half step back into the room.

“I don’t really have that much,” Keith said, quickly transferring his underwear from the bottom of his duffel to a drawer. He peered into the duffel—only his body armor and toiletries were left. He pulled out his toothbrush and deodorant. “You didn’t happen to see a secret bathroom tucked away when you put all of this stuff in here?”

“There’s a door here.” Shiro stepped all the way into the room and the wolf opened one eye to watch him. Shiro dropped a hand to his head and scratched his ears as he passed, before reaching for a panel behind a stack of boxes Keith had missed. The panel slid open to reveal an unexpectedly spacious bathroom—at least for a bathroom on a ship—with a sink and toilet on one side and shower stall the length of the room on the other. Keith had to push aside the boxes, and then shimmy into the room, which he could barely turn around without bumping into something. But it was luxurious compared to the vacuum toilet on his ship and the communal showers of his former sleeping quarters. Shiro opened up a cabinet on the wall and Keith put his things on the shelf. Keith thought he caught a brief wistful glance on Shiro’s face before Shiro left the bathroom.

“When I ordered up some linens for you, I also asked for soap and shampoo,” Shiro said over his shoulder, “So that should be up soon.”

“Okay,” Keith said, “You said that already.”

“Oh,” Shiro said, standing in the storage-room-turned-Keith’s-room like he didn’t know where to put his hands. 

It was weird. Shiro said it wouldn’t be weird, but it was weird. How could it not be? Keith put his hands in his pockets, because after watching Shiro he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands either, and found the temporary security badge issued. It didn’t have his picture on it, but it did display his name on the transparent screen—KEITH, and under that, BLADE OF MARMORA. The Galra didn’t have family names, and Keith had never had a strong attachment to his legal last name—one tacked to him in the foster system after his dad died—so he hadn’t used his in ages. And it wasn’t like there were tons of _Keiths_ running around in the Blades.

Part of him turned over the idea of Keith Shirogane, but the rest of him rejected it before the fantasy could play out too far.

Keith looked up from his badge, and caught Shiro looking at him. A flush turned Shiro’s neck a dark pink, and that traitorous part of Keith’s mind wondered if Shiro had also been thinking about Keith taking Shiro’s name. 

“So,” Keith said, unable to bear the silence anymore.

“So,” Shiro said. He looked like he wanted to say more, but Keith’s stomach beat him to the punch.

Keith looked down at his abdomen. “Maybe we should eat? I haven’t had anything all day and—“

“Yeah,” Shiro cut in, “That sounds great. Let’s go.”

Shiro scurried out of Keith’s room but Keith lingered a moment to scratch his wolf’s head and tell him they’d be back later. It probably wasn’t acceptable to bring a horse-sized wolf into the cafeteria, even if he was only the size of a _small_ horse. 

Shiro had completely crossed the living space when Keith stepped out of his new room. Shiro waited at his door, practically bouncing on his feet, and Keith wondered if this was how it was going to be between them now. In public, Shiro would be polite and helpful and caring, but when it was just them, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. 

Though, to be fair, it wasn’t like Keith knew what to do with himself either.

Keith closely followed Shiro to the executive dining room, where he had to be signed in as a guest before allowed in. More than one senior officer’s head turned when they saw Keith—they all were there when Keith gave his testimony after the attack and no doubt now wanted to see Keith and Shiro interact for themselves. Keith watched a few gazes flick down to Shiro’s hand—no ring—and then back up to Keith. If Keith thought it was weird in Shiro’s room, it was nothing compared to this, this judgmental scrutiny from people he barely knew. 

“Keith!” A shout drew his attention, and he looked up to see Pidge and Matt a few tables over, already chowing down on their lunch—bahn mis and fries dusted in a red spicy seasoning. _Real food_. Keith started drooling as he made his way over to them, and beckoned Shiro to follow. 

“Hey Keith, Shiro,” Matt said when they arrived. His eyes bounced back and forth between them, eyebrows raised. “I missed you two at the party last night.”

A chair scraped on the floor and someone from a neighboring table scooched closer. Another diner had a nonchalant look on their face, betraying their keen interest. Keith wanted to die. No, he had already died. This was hell. He was in hell.

Pidge saved Keith before he had to come up with a lie.

“Keith’s mom arrived last night,” Pidge said, tearing off a chunk of sandwich with their teeth, chewing it, and swallowing before continuing, “You were already totally gone on junilor when he got there.”

“Was I? That would explain the weird morning breath and the glitter.” Matt rolled up a sleeve to show off a layer of glitter still clinging to his skin. He roughly brushed his hand over it, but the glitter didn’t move. He shrugged and tugged his sleeve back into place.

Pidge then gave Keith a look that made the bottom drop out of his stomach. They had a dangerous glint in their eye as they spoke. “But of course, that doesn’t really explain why Keith missed the breakfast meeting this morning with Krolia and Hunk. Or why neither of them could get Keith on his comms.”

_Fuck_. Keith had completely forgotten about the meeting in his mess of a morning. 

“Oh ho ho,” Matt said, and Keith could feel the heat of a few additional not-so-subtle glances. Matt rubbed his hands together and leaned over the table to whisper conspiratorially to Shiro. “Go on, you can tell me.”

Shiro put his metal hand on Matt’s forehead and pushed him back over to his side of the table. A server came over with two trays, eyed them all over—Shiro with his hand still on Matt’s head, Pidge the traitor _winking_ , and Keith, mortified, trying to slip under the table. He gave trays to Keith and Shiro with the lunch special on it, the same long sandwiches and fries on Pidge’s and Matt’s trays, and left without a word. 

“Okay,” Shiro said, looking at his sandwich and picking off the cilantro, “Keith and I spent the morning in Personnel. His comms aren’t working because he’s not in the system anymore. Personnel tried to put him back in, but there was some kind of error and we’re waiting until the reboot tonight.”

Pidge dropped their sandwich on the plate. “Why did you go all they way to Personnel?” they asked, “ _I_ have access to everything on Atlas.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think about that,” Keith said, “Do you think you could put me back in the system?”

Pidge cracked their knuckles. “There’s nothing I can’t do on this ship,” they said. They shoved the rest of their sandwich in their mouth and stood up. “I’m ready when you are,” they said around a mouthful of banh mi. 

Keith looked at his sandwich and sighed. He was so hungry, but Pidge had never been the most patient person. He took one of the cloth napkins from the table and wrapped his sandwich up in it as he ate a few handfuls of fries. Shiro watched Keith make his lunch bundle, and Keith was sure for a moment that Shiro would chastise him for taking one of the napkins. But instead, he just wrapped up his own sandwich before nodding to Pidge and letting them know he was ready to go. 

Keith and Shiro followed Pidge out of the cafeteria as Matt stayed behind, saying he had little interest in bringing “sandwiches with pickled toppings into a small confined spaces.” They squeezed into Pidge’s workroom, slightly more comfortable after Keith rearranged the electronic junk, and Pidge immediately went to work on their computer.

Pidge pulled up (most likely) the same set of forms the officer in Personnel had used. Keith handed over everything on his person that identified him before Pidge even asked, and they filled in the form—the painstakingly _long_ form—just as before in Personnel. Pidge tried to submit the form, and got the same error noise—a noise that Keith would prefer to never hear again ever, thank you.

Pidge frowned and tried to submit again. They looked over the form—just as the Personnel officer had—but instead of tweaking an entry and trying again, Pidge looked to another screen and rapidly typed a string of code into a command box. Moving between the two screens, they typed and clicked and ... did other computer things. Keith really didn’t know how to describe half of the things Pidge did when they weren’t doing complicated things—like, did they just do a _biometric_ scan?

Keith stopped watching and found the folding chair he used the last time he was in here. He sat down and started unwrapping his sandwich, when he noticed Shiro watching him by the reflection on Pidge’s third unused monitor. Shiro was on the other side of Pidge, leaning over their shoulder and watching them work—until he wasn’t watching Pidge anymore. Keith was pretty sure Shiro didn’t know that Keith could see his expression, his face so unguarded. Shiro was worried—it would be hard for Keith to stay on Atlas without being in her system, so Shiro’s worry made sense. And Keith couldn’t accept a job offer for a posting on a ship that refused to process his paperwork. But every time Pidge’s computer made that error chime, Shiro’s worried face slipped and relief replaced it. Even though Keith could see the expression as plain as day, he had a harder time interpreting it. Why would Shiro be relieved? Did Shiro _like_ Keith in his space?

Keith tore into his sandwich, as Pidge tried again and again to make something happen. Pidge growled at their computer, their frustration mounting, but Keith didn’t hear the error message this time.

“What happened?” Keith asked.

“I made up a person and put in a bunch of fake information,” Pidge said, “And that worked!”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Shiro said, but Pidge shook their head.

“I could make up a hundred fake people and they’d all go into the system with no problem,” Pidge said, “But whenever I put in Keith’s info, it doesn’t work. The problem is _Keith_.”

Keith dropped his sandwich in his lap. His blood ran cold. 

Shiro frowned, and asked Pidge, “Do you know _why_ Keith in particular is locked out?”

Pidge’s shoulders shot up to their ears and their mouth turned into a lopsided line. “Fuck if I know. I can do a sweep for bugs and shit, see if there’s any anomalous code left by the attack.”

Shiro sighed. “That’s good, then.”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up, though,” they said, “That’s a _loooooong_ shot. I hate to admit it, but waiting for a reboot of the Personnel system might be a better bet. If there’s something floating around that shouldn’t, a reboot should clear it up.”

“And if the reboot doesn’t clear it up?” Keith asked. He was getting agitated, but he pushed it down. No good would come of yelling at Pidge. 

“I dunno,” Pidge said, “Maybe you’ll have to be”—Pidge peered at their computer—“ _Akira Kogane_ when you’re on Atlas. I had no problem putting that guy in the system.

Keith considered it for a moment. _Akira_ ’s in the system—he’d be assigned a bunk and a locker and have access to the comms. He wouldn’t have to stop at every security checkpoint and explain that he wasn’t a security threat. But then his badge and his bunk and his comms would all say “Akira” and that was just too weird for Keith.

“No, I think I’ll just keep my temporary badge,” Keith said with a sigh. 

“But you don’t have a bunk,” Pidge said, “and no one can get you on comms.”

Shiro cleared his throat, his cheeks almost purple in the blue light of Pidge’s computers. “I have a spare room and Keith is staying there.”

Pidge’s eyebrows shot up above their glasses. “I _see_ ,” they said, and the awkwardness in the room was palpable. 

Keith stood up and wiped the crumbs off his shirt. “So, until tomorrow at least I have somewhere to sleep and somewhere to put my stuff and I’ll just have to be with someone else to get food or open doors. It’s not the most convenient but I also don’t spend a lot of time wandering Atlas’ halls by myself.”

“And comms?” Pidge asked.

“Honestly, fuck them,” Keith said, exasperated. 

Pidge grinned. “It’s probably not something we need to worry about until tomorrow, then.”

“So, we’re just waiting for the reboot?” Shiro asked, rocking back on his heels impatiently.

Pidge nodded. “I’ll trawl through the system and see if I can’t find anything interesting, but there’s a _lot_ of system and just me to look at it all. But I’m also a little mad that the system’s shutting me out here, so I have some extra motivation to show it who’s boss.”

Pidge rolled up their sleeves and started working on their computer without even a hand wave goodbye. Shiro shrugged and started walking out of the room, Keith trailing right after him.

“So, you can’t go anywhere unescorted,” Shiro said, stopping just before the door to the hallway, “Do you need me to take you somewhere?”

Keith nodded. “Can you take me to my mom? I should probably let her know I’m okay and then I guess back to your room to get some work done ...”

“No problem.” Shiro waited for Keith to lead the way, but Keith needed Shiro to move first so he could deal with the doors. Then, after too long of neither of them moving, they both took a step at the same time and crashed into each other. 

“Sorry,” Shiro said, one arm steadying Keith, “How ‘bout I go first?”

The door opened automatically for Shiro and stayed open just long enough for Keith to slip through. Once they were in the hallway, Shiro spoke softly, pitched low enough for only Keith to hear. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last night—about trust and being unsure about the future and my feelings ...”

Shiro trailed off as a few crew members from Maintenance walked by, but picked up again once they were out of ear shot. “And I think it’s important that you know that I wasn’t trying to take advantage of you just because we’d both had a few drinks—“

“Shiro.” Keith stopped him with a hand at his elbow. “I never thought that. Last night ...”

Another set of crew walked by them, this one much more curious than the last. But that probably had to do with Keith’s hand on Shiro’s forearm.

“Last night was _me_ ”—Keith put his other hand on his chest—“making the wrong decision.”

Shiro breathed in deep, his face falling. 

“Not because I don’t care about you,” Keith said, trying to stop Shiro from thinking that _he_ was the mistake, “But because I _do_ care about you. If anyone was taking advantage, it was me.”

Shiro bit his lip and nodded. Keith took that as a victory—one successful conversation about their feelings and no one was upset at the end of it.

“Should we ... get going?” Keith asked.

“Of course,” Shiro said and started walking again.


	22. Chapter 22

Keith lounged in his new bed, his tablet in one hand and while his other absently stroked the fur at his wolf’s withers. Looking over the report from the attack on Atlas for the hundredth time, Keith wished (for the hundredth time) that he wasn’t so computer dumb. There were snippets of code found after the attack, but it just looked like a bunch of random symbols to Keith. He flipped past the pages on the code and reread the narrative accounts of the attack. No matter how many times he read them, he still couldn’t figure out the motive for the attack. Nothing was stolen, nothing was broken—except for Keith’s personnel file maybe?—and only small chunks of code were left behind. 

Keith closed his eyes, and his encounter with Shiro during the attack replayed through all of his senses. The metallic tang of blood filled his nostrils as the remembered pressure of Shiro’s had awakened phantom pain. Shiro’s voice had had that same metallic quality—like someone or something talked _through_ Shiro. 

_You need to stop_. What did that mean?

A knock at the bedroom door pulled Keith out of the memory. The wolf looked up as Shiro cracked open the door, enough for his voice to carry into the room but not enough to peek his head in.

“The rest of the Altean New Year festivities are beginning soon and I’m needed for all the boring formal stuff,” Shiro said, “Are you coming?”

Keith looked down at his tablet. He probably wasn’t going to find anything new or useful in the attack report, but he also had Krolia’s report on the corrupted message to read. He didn’t know if reading her report would help him make a connection no one had picked up just yet, but it was worth a try. Plus, Krolia wanted a short report on him being kicked out of the system to pass on to the Blades. 

“I’m going to pass,” Keith said, “I need to write up something for the Blades about today’s weirdness.”

Shiro opened the door and leaned inside. “Are you going to okay stuck in here? You can’t get out without someone else to work the doors.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere.” Keith had a bed and a bathroom and a few frozen meals from the commissary he could reheat in Shiro’s kitchenette if he got hungry. 

“Plus,” Keith added, petting his wolf on the head, “I have all the transportation I need right here, if I really need to get somewhere.”

“Okay,” Shiro said, stretching out the _o_ , “See you later.”

Keith waved goodbye and went back to his reading. He read Krolia’s report on his message twice, again annoyed that he doesn’t even really know what technically happened to his message. He reluctantly put it aside until he could get his mom or Pidge to translate it into normal people talk, and began working on describing the events of the morning. As he wrote, the more and more frustrated he became. There were still too many things he didn’t know and didn’t seem to make sense. Why was Keith the one locked out of Atlas? Why was his message intercepted? Why did weird stuff only start happening on Atlas after Keith’s arrival? 

He felt something nagging at the back of his mind, like he had all the pieces but wasn’t looking at it from the right angle. He thought about putting together a timeline when there was a chime at Shiro’s main door, followed by a _woof_ from the wolf next to him. 

Keith jumped, not expecting anyone except Shiro to show up, and Shiro didn’t have to ring the bell. He put away his tablet and his thoughts, and got up to check out who was at the door, wolf at his heels. He pressed the intercom, half-expecting it not to work for him, but it surprisingly connected him immediately to the person on the other side of the door. 

“Hello?” he asked tentatively.

“Keith!” Lance shouted, “Why aren’t you at the festival?”

“I’m working.” And considering the last party he attended, Keith thought he probably didn’t need any more junilor.

“Come to the festival,” Lance said, “You’re missing all the fun.”

Keith didn’t really want to go. He wanted to get back to his report. He felt like he was on the cusp of something. But he didn’t want to tell anyone yet—not until he had it figured out. “I can’t work the doors,” Keith said and the wolf cocked his head. Keith shushed him. “So I guess I can’t leave. Oh well.”

The doors whooshed open, and Keith was suddenly face to face with Lance and Pidge. “That’s not really a problem for me,” Pidge said. They held up their badge and struck a pose. “Universal access _baby_.”

Keith backed into Shiro’s room, his hands held up defensively. His wolf, the traitor, teleported over to Pidge and rubbed his big dumb head against Pidge’s chest. 

Keith looked down at his old t-shirt with its holes in the armpits. “Well, I’m not really dressed for a festival—“

Hunk appeared from around the corner and held up a neatly folded stack of clothes. “We’ve got you covered,” Hunk said.

Well, _fuck_. 

“Fine, fine,” Keith said and reached for the stack of clothes. He instructed his wolf to make sure that Hunk and Pidge and Lance didn’t touch anything but his wolf was distracted by Pidge vigorously rubbing his belly. 

Keith dropped the pile of clothes on the bed and considered whether or not he could get away with something from his small wardrobe. Keith’s excuse that he didn’t have anything to wear wasn’t completely false. All of the clothes he had brought with him to Atlas fell into two categories: Marmoran uniform/armor, and something he would have worn as a teenager. And all of it showed the years of wear.

So he flipped through the clothes that Hunk brought, finding a few different shirts and pants. He immediately rejected the black western shirt with white piping details, as well as a too-big sweater that was probably meant to be oversized and fashionable, but Keith thought it didn’t look very comfortable. He pulled out a pair of black jeans from the pile, and found when he put them on that they had leather-like square knee-patches and stripes down the sides. He also found a white button-down and figured that was a step up from his old black t-shirt. He looked about as dressy as Hunk, who also had on jeans and a button down (plus a yellow and brown patterned cardigan), though Lance, in his embroidered blue royal consort robes put them both to shame. But, he figured he was more appropriately attired than Pidge, who wore a neon green motorcycle jacket over a transparent shirt and the _shortest_ shorts Keith had ever seen. 

As soon as he was changed, Lance whisked Keith out of Shiro’s room with barely a pause for Keith to put his boots on and say goodbye to his wolf. The four of them made a kind of weird parade—and drew a few curious glances—as they walked the halls of Atlas. Just for a moment, Keith let himself be transported back to a time when the four of them walked these halls as the Paladins of Voltron. If he squinted, he could almost see them as they were before—four young kids sucked into space and doing their best to keep it from totally going sideways. Now they were four adults, and at least Pidge, Lance and Hunk had some crazy important responsibilities. They’d grown up during their time as Paladins, and then grown into their roles maintaining order in the galaxy.

And Keith had just become some nobody spy. 

Maybe he should slip away. He obviously didn’t fit with his friends.

Keith was half a second from turning around when they reached the hallway outside Atlas’ gym. Hundreds of crew members filled in all available space as they pushed into the gym, and Keith was pulled along in the current. He’d waited too long to turn around. 

Lance tugged Keith forward and cut to the front of the line. Lance and Keith slipped past security with a wave—diplomatic privileges Keith guessed—and then Keith was inside. 

The gym was unrecognizable—he only knew he was in the gym because the second story running track, festooned in garlands, was visible over the tops of tents and booths on the ground floor. The tall ceilings of the gym amplified the chatter and music and bells from game booths, making it nearly impossible for Keith to hear what Lance was trying to say.

“—over here” was all that Keith managed to catch as Lance pulled him further into the festival. They zigzagged through the crowd and between stands selling hot junilor drinks (gross) to a low dais. Allura sat on a high-backed ornate chair and talked to a tall, lithe Altean standing next to her as Alfora pretended to fly a plane at Allura’s feet.

The Altean man noticed them first, his clear ice-blue eyes meeting Keith’s despite the crowd between them. His light pink hair was short and tousled in a way to make it look messy, but purposefully so. He smiled at Keith and ran his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, his sleeves riding up to show off a toned bicep.

Keith narrowed his eyes. Something about this felt like a trap.

Allura turned and waved as Lance gestured for Keith to walk up the two steps on to the dais. Keith took the steps slowly, looking around for all possible exits if necessary. He could just jump on the dais and run, but that seemed exactly the kind of thing that would upset Lance. Maybe he could fake a stomach ache...

“Keith,” Allura said, “This is one of our pilots, Melar.”

Melar stuck our his hand to Keith, his long fingers adorned with several purple metal rings—the same purple metal as his teardrop-shaped earrings. Keith looked at the hand. He could feel Lance and Allura waiting for Keith to do something. Keith sighed—the sooner he started whatever conversation they wanted him to have with this pilot, the sooner Keith could get back to his work.

Keith put his hand in Melar’s and shook it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Melar said, saying the word _too_ like it had three or four syllables. “Her Majesty was just telling me that you’re a pilot as well—and a former Paladin of Voltron like Her Majesty.”

“Oh, Melar, all that ‘Her Majesty’ stuff is really unnecessary,” Allura said. She squirmed in her seat, the first time Keith had really seen her uncomfortable with her title. 

“I apologize,” he said, and then added, “Allura.”

Melar then turned his attention to Keith. He spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, a grin on his face. “I’ve known them for almost four decaphoebs but I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to using their names.”

“And I don’t think I’ll ever get used to people calling them majesty or whatever,” Keith said, “Especially after seeing Lance shirtless and—“

“Okay! No need to rehash the past,” Lance said, “Why don’t you two go play some games. Melar has lots of questions for you Keith.”

Keith narrowed his eyes again. _What are you doing Lance_? 

“That sounds like fun!” Melar clapped his hands together. “And Keith can tell me all about flying Galran fighter planes. I’ve always been curious about how those handle.”

“The controls are super responsive, so coming from Earth, it took some time for me to get used to only using a little pressure. I started out by pushing them all the way forward, and I ended up halfway across the galaxy.”

Keith laughed and Melar laughed, too. Conversation ended up being easy with Melar—he had a way of keeping Keith talking and picking new topics when things lulled. Melar was curious about the Lions and piloting something that was sentient, and Keith did his best to explain how it felt. They swapped stories about flying junk cargo ships and bulky transport ships and before Keith realized it, they were walking through the festival. 

Melar bought them both something sweet and juniberry-flavored, and between bites of the soft dough he asked, “So, what got you into flying?”

Keith closed his eyes and could feel the metal controls of the portable simulator in his hands. He could hear Shiro’s voice, talking with his teacher. Keith’s hands started to sweat.

“I was good at it,” Keith said with a shrug, “And it was a way out of a bad situation.”

_And someone believed in me_.

“It wasn’t a calling for you?” Melar furrowed his brows. “Most people I know say it’s a calling. It was for me.”

“Most pilots I know are adrenaline junkies with little impulse control,” Keith retorted. 

Melar finished his sweet and asked, “But not you?”

“Maybe the impulse control thing,” Keith conceded. 

Melar laughed and his hand came up to rest on Keith’s shoulder. Keith didn’t think what he’d said been that funny, but Melar apparently needed help just staying upright. He’d never understood Altean humor—maybe Keith had said something culturally funny?

Melar wiped his eyes and smiled at Keith. His hand trailed down Keith’s arm, his fingers tickling the delicate skin of Keith’s wrist before interlacing with Keith’s fingers. Keith looked down at their hands locked together—it was _surreal_. It was like looking at someone else’s hands ...

_Oh shit,_ Keith thought, _shit shit shit._

Keith pulled his hand back and jammed it into his pocket. This was a _date_. Keith wanted to wring Lance’s neck. He looked around, trying to find the way back to the dais so he could do so, when he found Shiro instead.

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_.

Shiro’s mouth was set in a hard line. He shook his head slowly and then turned around to disappear around the corner of a line of tents.

“Sorry,” Keith said to Melar, “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

Keith didn’t spare a moment to see Melar’s expression. He just jogged through the crowd, pushing people out of the way as he searched for Shiro. It shouldn’t’ve been a hard task—Shiro was tall and his hair, even in a sea of Alteans, was distinctive. But Keith couldn’t find him.

After a few minutes of trying, Keith found the way back to the dais, either hoping to use what little extra height it had to find Shiro, or failing that, make Lance explain himself. 

“Keith!” Lance called from his chair. He looked around Keith, confused. “What happened to Melar?”

“I’ll get to you in a second,” Keith said, pointing aggressively at Lance. He stepped up on Allura’s empty chair, ignoring the gasps from the Alteans nearby, and craned his neck to see over the tents. 

_Shiro, where the fuck did you go?_

“Keith, what are you doing?” Lance asked.

“Trying to find Shiro.” As if it wasn’t obvious. As if Lance didn’t know what he’d done. 

“Keith.” Lance plucked at Keith’s shirt sleeve. “Get down from there.”

Keith stretched up on his toes. “Not yet.”

Lance sighed and pulled on Keith’s shirt again. “Shiro left. He stopped by to say _goodnight_.”

Keith collapsed into the chair. Another chorus of gasps sounded, but Keith didn’t have time to deal with them. Keith rubbed his hands over his face. “Lance, why did you set me up on a date?”

“I thought you wanted to date,” Lance said, “You know, after our last conversation. I assumed you hadn’t said anything to Shiro since you two weren’t making out in the hallway, so I wanted to give you another option.”

Keith swore in Galran. “Lance,” Keith said slowly, measured, “I did talk to Shiro. Or, Shiro talked to me.”

“He did? What—“

“He _loves_ me. He told me he loves me and he just saw Melar holding my hand.”

“Oh,” Lance said, surprised, and then, “Shit.”

Keith let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah, _shit_.”

“Oooooooh, daddy said a bad word,” Alfora’s voice came from behind Lance’s chair.

“Daddy made a mistake,” Lance said, picking up his daughter and looking into her eyes, “But that’s no excuse for bad words.”

Keith thought this current situation was plenty of an excuse for bad words. Keith wanted to say a few more. 

“Did he say where he was going?” Keith asked.

Lance shrugged, “He said he was tired. He wanted to go to bed.”

Keith stood up quickly. “Ok, I’m going to try to find him ... _shit_.”

Lance asked “what?!” at the same time Alfora went “ooooooh” again. 

“The doors—none of them will open for me. How am I supposed to get into his room to talk to him ... or at some point sleep?”

Lance put his chin in his hand. He looked like he was thinking, but the effect was slightly ruined by Alfora tucking trinkets into his beard. He then said “ah ha!” startling both Keith and Alfora, and pulled out his comms.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I‘ll apologize more later,” Lance said to Keith. He switched his comms on and spoke into the microphone, “Pidge, we need you.”


	23. Chapter 23

Keith used Pidge’s universal access badge to open the door to Shiro’s room. He tore into the room as soon as he could squeeze past the door, and found it the same as he’d left it. Both the doors to his and Shiro’s rooms were slightly open, and there was no sign of Atlas’ captain. Keith’s wolf teleported to Keith’s side as soon as Keith entered, likely sensing Keith’s panic. He trailed after Keith, softly whining, as Keith paced the main living area. Keith dropped a hand onto his head.

“What am I going to say when Shiro gets back,” Keith asked himself, “What _can_ I say?”

_Sorry Shiro, Lance set me up without my knowledge and I was so weirded out by the novelty of someone holding my hand that I didn’t immediately pull my hand away. But don’t worry, I still don’t know how to deal with my feelings about you. So we can just go back to the way it was, right? You know, you love me and I probably love you but we’re not together._

Keith growled. Another fuck up for the never ending pile of fuck ups. 

Keith tried to sit down and wait for Shiro. He sat on the very edge of the couch, ready to spring up the moment Shiro returned, his wolf similarly prepared. A few minutes passed, and then a few more. Keith looked down at his watch. Where did Shiro go? And why was it taking him so long to get back?

Looking down at his hands, Keith fitted one into the other. He closed his eyes and remembered the soft, warm, solid feeling of Melar’s hand. It had been nice. If Keith weren’t such a colossal fuck up, maybe he would have let Melar hold his hand. Maybe he would have let Melar kiss him. Maybe he and Melar would have flown ships together for the rest of their days.

But, when Keith imagined his co-pilot in this possible future, it wasn’t Melar’s face he saw. Melar’s ice-blue eyes were replaced with warm brown ones, and his tousled pink hair with white. 

_Fuck fuck fuck. Am I ever going to get this right? Are_ we _ever going to get this right?_

A soft _ding_ chimed from Keith’s room—the sound of a received message from the Blades of Marmora memo system. If Keith hadn’t been listening so hard for Shiro’s return, he probably would have missed it. But it could wait. He had to be waiting for Shiro. He had to talk—

The _ding_ came again—another message. 

Keith glanced between the door to his temporary room and the main door. The main room was small enough that Keith would still be able to hear Shiro come in and the wolf would definitely alert Keith to Shiro’s presence, so he could go check his message ...

At least it would give him something to do while he waited. 

Keith quickly grabbed his tablet as soon as he was in his room. He tapped on the notifications and two messages from Krolia popped up on his screen. He quickly skimmed through the first then, surprised by its contents, read it again more deliberately.

_Keith—I know that your comms aren’t working right now, but BoM messages aren’t reliant on any of Atlas’ systems, so I believe you should receive this message._

_After discussing the various occurrences on Atlas with Kolivan, we have decided to extract you from Atlas and reassign you. We think that you are likely the target of some operation, and whatever is happening with Atlas is an attempt to get to you. If this is the case, this also means that your identity has been compromised. Kolivan wishes to remove you from active duty until we can ensure that one or more of your undercover identities hasn’t been linked to your actual identity. Therefore, you will need to go to the hangar in two vargas to meet with Acxa—she will escort you off Atlas. This should give you plenty of time to pack and say your goodbyes before your departure. We anticipate that you might need to remain in a secure location for up to eight phoebs while we sort this out, so we urge you to make whatever preparations are necessary for a lengthy stay._

_—Krolia_

Keith couldn’t believe it. They wanted to pull him off Atlas? And tuck him away somewhere far away for almost a _decaphoeb_? He’d probably end up on some asteroid with only like five other Blades and _nothing_ to do.

And what about Shiro? 

He had to find Shiro and _explain_ what had happened. He just had two vargas to do it. Two vargas to comb through a ship that took at least that long just to walk from end to end, plus he was without comms and only had his wolf for getting around.

Maybe he could refuse the order. Or ask for more time or ...

He looked down at the tablet again and remembered there was a second message. He opened that one too, and a small part of him hoped it was Krolia writing to say she’d changed her mind.

_One more thing: There is a remote possibility that it is unsafe for you to ever return to Atlas. I hope that this is not the case, but you should be prepared none the less. Additionally, even after some time in a secure location, we don’t know if the attacks would resume upon your return to Atlas. So, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to accept the job Shiro offered you. I’m sorry._

_—Krolia_

Of course she hadn’t changed her mind. Of course she wanted to send him the worst case scenario. Of course he couldn’t take the job. 

Keith threw his tablet back on the bed. He jammed his fists into his eyes and tried to control his breathing. He breathed in—long and deep—and breathed out, counting to ten before sucking in another lungful of air. He repeated this process until he had his emotions under control. His wolf wrapped his body around Keith’s legs, and Keith curled his body over the wolf’s head. He buried his face in the wolf’s fur and felt the familiar tang of metal in his mouth. 

He didn’t let himself stay tangled up with his wolf for long. He had to pack, he had to talk to Shiro, and he only had two vargas to do it. He pulled his duffel out and started throwing clothes into it, worrying more about having everything in the duffel than the state in which they were packed. 

“Keith?” 

Keith turned from his packing and saw Shiro in his doorway, looking worse for wear. His eyes were unfocused and red, and his hair was in disarray. His eyes slid slowly to Keith’s bag and his face crumpled.

“You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. The _again_ was left unsaid.

“I have orders,” Keith said, “Krolia doesn’t think it’s safe for me to stay on Atlas.”

Shiro swayed and turned. He stumbled away from Keith’s room, and half-sat, half-fell onto his couch, a rattling sigh pushed out as he landed. He ran a hand—his flesh hand—over his face. “How long?”

Keith followed Shiro out into the main room, and the wolf followed behind Keith. “Krolia said maybe eight phoebs, maybe ... forever.”

“ _Forever,_ ” Shiro said, “So I guess you won’t be taking the job.”

“Krolia said I shouldn’t.”

“So there’s a chance that we might not see each other for a very long time, then,” Shiro said, his words measured. 

Keith nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. 

“What about ... your _date_?” Shiro asked, voice full of bitterness.

“That was all Lance and Allura,” Keith said quickly, ”I didn’t want—I didn’t even realize it was a date until—“ Keith shut his mouth instead of finishing that sentence. He didn’t need to remind Shiro about any of the specifics.

Shiro looked down at his hands. “Keith, I’m ... _trying_ very hard to understand what’s going on. I know you’ve been _confused_ and things have been _complicated ..._ ”

Keith snorted. _Understatement of the year_.

Shiro continued, “I want things to work with you, but I don’t want to push you—I just want to know—and I’ll support whatever choice you make but ...”—Shiro sighed—“Do you _want_ to leave?”

Before Keith could think of a reply, his mouth answered for him. “No.” 

Shiro looked up at Keith, clearly surprised. “Really?”

Keith nodded. Living on Atlas had been weird and challenging these past few phoebs, but Keith _liked_ it. He liked seeing his old friends and he liked having his meals interrupted by gossiping MFE pilots and he liked hanging out with Acxa ... and he liked being close to Shiro. He felt _wanted_ here, and not just by Shiro, and that was something Keith didn’t know if he’d ever felt. 

Then a funny thought entered Keith’s head. He didn’t know where it came from, but once it was there, he couldn’t stop it from growing. Keith couldn’t disobey Krolia and Kolivan without essentially resigning from the Blades at the same time. Shiro, on the other hand ... Shiro was the captain of Atlas, one of the highest ranked officers in the Coalition. Kolivan would have to at least hear Shiro out.

“Ask me to stay,” Keith said.

Shiro shook his head like he hadn’t heard Keith correctly. “What?”

“I can’t disobey a direct order from Kolivan,” Keith said, “But you can tell Kolivan that I need to stay. He might argue with you, but he’ll listen.”

“But Keith,” Shiro hesitated, “Are you sure? You’d be stuck here. You’ll miss out on ... other opportunities.”

Shiro’s cheeks turned a dusty pink. Keith wondered if he was thinking about Melar, if he thought that Keith _wanted_ Melar—or just anyone that wasn’t Shiro. 

“Shiro,” Keith said as he sat down next to Shiro, “If they make me leave now, we’re never gonna figure this out.” He picked up Shiro’s left hand and turned it so that it was palm up on Shiro’s knee. Keith traced the lines on Shiro’s skin with a featherlight touch of his finger, before slotting his fingers with Shiro’s. He touched his palm to Shiro’s and it felt like something clicking into place—something _right._

Keith mustered up all of the feeling he could and he hoped that when he spoke, Shiro would understand his meaning. “Ask me to stay.”

Shiro looked back down at their hands and shook his head, but Keith thought he caught the barest hint of a smile—more of a “this is crazy” head shake, instead of a “no way” head shake.

Shiro opened his mouth to reply, and then the room went dark.

Keith stood up on instinct, his wolf was at his side in an instant and his hand slipping from Shiro’s. Keith’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dark as a faint glow of reflected light from a nearby planet trickled into the room.

Shiro was also on his feet, and starting to move toward the light switches when the gravity went too. It was happening again.

“Shiro!” Keith shouted as his feet started to lose contact with the floor. “Be careful!”

Keith reached out to touch his wolf—an anchor as he started to drift above the couch—and they both zapped over to Shiro. Shiro flipped the switches a few times before opening up part of the ship near the switches to reveal an electrical panel. He fiddled with it for a minute or so before saying, “I don’t think it’s just us.”

Keith nodded. “I don’t think so either. This is what happened last time ... when you ...”

Shiro put a hand on Keith’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. It was so much better to go through an attack _with_ Shiro.

Gravity stabilized and, with the help of Keith’s wolf, they zapped to the floor instead of crashing into it. Like before, the harsh red of the emergency lights replaced the darkness and alarms started going off.

As the alarms rang in Keith ears, he wondered if maybe Krolia was right about Keith leaving after all ...

“Keith,” Shiro said, his voice sounding far away through the alarm bells, “You shouldn’t stay. It’s not safe.”

Shiro’s face was a mask, giving nothing away of what he was thinking or feeling. With his eyes, the most revealing part of his face, cast down to the floor, Keith couldn’t even guess at Shiro’s emotional state.

“But, I don’t want to go.” 

“It won’t stop, Keith. You’re causing this—“

“We don’t know that—“

“It will only get worse if you stay.”

And then, Keith was angry. Keith wasn’t just a fuck up—he was a complete fool. Why the fuck did he let himself believe that Shiro wanted him? Shiro, the king of mixed signals, had changed his mind. _Again_. 

“Fine,” Keith bit out, “I’ll go.”

Keith stomped over to his room, his wolf whining as he followed. Keith threw the rest of his things into his bag as the normal lights came back on and the alarms stopped. It didn’t matter if he things were packed orderly—he just had to get off this fucking ship.

Keith zipped up his bag and probably broke the zipper in the process. He swung it over his shoulder and marched out of the room. Shiro stood where Keith left him, rubbing his forehead with his hands. Shiro looked at Keith as soon as he heard him emerge, a question in his eyes.

“So, you _are_ going,” Shiro said, sounding surprised.

Keith rolled his eyes. “I’ll be out of your hair in less than a varga. Maybe I’ll see you in a year.”

“Keith, wait,” Shiro said, catching up with Keith when Keith got to the door, “Was it the attack? What happened?”

“What _happened_?” Keith threw Shiro’s words back at him, “I _thought_ I wanted to stay, but I guess _it’s not safe_.” Keith held up Pidge’s universal access badge and the doors opened behind Keith. 

“So this is it?” Shiro asked, unable to hold back a wobble in his voice, “We’re just _done_ with each other?”

“Yeah,” Keith said, “This is it.” And then Keith left.


	24. Chapter 24

Shiro’s doors _whooshed_ as they closed behind him. That was it. A chapter of Keith’s life that started when he was fifteen was over. He could move on now. He could start over. He could make new friends.

Keith put his hand on his wolf. “Take me to the hangar.”

His wolf whined, his head still fixed on the room they’d just left. His head moved to face Keith, but his eyes still lingered on Shiro’s room. If he could talk, Keith knew his wolf would be asking if Keith was sure.

“I’m sure,” Keith said, his voice as hard as his resolve, “Let’s go.”

Keith blinked and they were in the hangar, next to his ship. He hadn’t thought about his ship since the first few days on Atlas. The small vessel had felt like home once, but now Keith hated the sight of it. Back on this tiny ship—alone after Acxa’s assigned somewhere else—to take himself to a tiny, remote, lonely place. 

_Hoo-fucking-ray._

Keith opened the door to his ship and stepped inside. It was pretty much as he’d left it—maybe a little tidier—as cold and impersonal as it had every been. Keith opened drawers on autopilot, tucking his life back into secure, discrete compartments. This was the life Keith knew. It had been silly to think there’d be anything else. Those other things just weren’t for Keith. _This_ was for Keith—the job, space, this ship, his wolf. Maybe his wolf. Maybe Krolia or Kolivan or whoever would decide that the wolf was too distinctive, too identifiable. It wouldn’t be the first time.

His things put away, Keith sat on the fold-down chair in his barely-there kitchen and waited for Acxa. She probably was telling people she was going. Keith felt a momentary pang of guilt that once again, he was taking off without telling Hunk or Lance or Pidge or Allura. But at least this time, his leaving wasn’t his choice—he’d tell them later that there hadn’t been time. That wasn’t too far from the truth. According to Keith’s watch, they’d be taking off in just over a varga.

So he waited. And waited. 

Until the ship lurched and the all hands alarm blared over the hangar PA.

Keith turned to his wolf and put a hand on its head. “Take me to Krolia.”

They zapped together to the wide hallway leading to Atlas’ bridge. Keith started walking as soon as they landed, spotting Krolia and catching up with her.

“What’s going on?” Keith asked.

“I don’t know,” Krolia said, “I can’t get anyone on comms.”

Keith followed his mother onto the bridge, the noises of alarms and shouting pervading the room. A handful of officers glanced at them when they walked in, but most were too busy with their stations. Veronica leaned over the shoulder of one officer, looking at something on their screen.

“We’ve lost navigation completely,” the officer reported, “They can’t pull up a single star chart.”

From across the room another voice added, “The engines won’t restart. Switching to auxiliary power.”

Another shout—this time Veronica. “Someone get Pidge on comms. I want to know what’s happening in the system.”

“Comms are down, captain,” Krolia said, stepping down onto the lower level of the bridge, “I’ve tried connecting to several people, but nothing goes through.

Veronica nodded. “I’ll have to send a runner then. Officer Brooks”—she turned toward a security officer near the bridge door—“go to the main access room for Atlas and—“

“We can go,” Keith offered, patting his wolf’s head, “We’re much faster.”

“Go on,” Veronica said and as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Keith and his wolf transported off the bridge and to Pidge’s workroom.

“Fuck!” Pidge said as they threw their communicator across the room.

“Yeah, that’s not working right now.”

Pidge jumped out of their seat. “Fuck, Keith,” they said as they rubbed their eyes, “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” Keith said, “I was just on the bridge and transporting here was faster than Veronica sending a runner since ...”

“Comms are down,” Pidge and Keith said at the same time. Pidge made a few circles in quick succession with their finger, urging Keith to hurry up.

“Veronica wants a report. Navigation is gone, and the engines aren’t working. She wants to know what’s going on”—Keith waggled his fingers at Pidge’s workstation—“with all that computer stuff.”

“Yeah, I would like to know, too,” Pidge said, “I’m locked out. I can’t even log into my computer.” They held their hands out, palms up. They had nothing.

“Let me take you back to the bridge, then,” Keith said, “Their computers are working. Maybe you can do your computer magic up there.” 

Pidge stood up and nodded. The wolf zapped Keith across the room to Pidge and then both of them back to the bridge. They appeared within inches of Veronica, startling two or three crew members upon their arrival. Pidge immediately pushed aside a bridge officer and took over their station. 

“Pidge is locked out of main access,” Keith explained to Veronica. They both watched Pidge’s fingers fly over the keyboard, Pidge too engrossed in their work to hear the displaced officer’s protests. “I thought they might be able to work here.”

Veronica nodded, her hand on her chin. She said half to herself, “I don’t understand why this keeps happening.”

“Kolivan and I are operating under the theory that Keith”—she glanced at Keith for a moment before turning back to Veronica—“is the problem. We think his identity was discovered during his last assignment, and he is the target of these attacks.”

Veronica shook her head. “It’s not a bad theory—all of this did start after he arrived. We never had problems like this before, but ...”

Veronica furrowed her brows. She was trying to put the pieces together, but they just weren’t fitting. Keith knew how she felt.

“I just wonder if it’s a coincidence that it’s the festival day of the Altean New Year and we’re running on a skeleton crew,” Veronica said, “It’s an awfully good time to attack.”

“But this first attack happened when nothing else was going on,” Krolia countered, “Plus Keith was the only one injured, _and_ he was the only one locked out of Atlas today.”

Krolia presented a convincing argument, but Keith couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about the timing. He wished again that he’d put together a timeline. Nothing else was going on during the first attack—that’s what Krolia thought. But maybe ...

When Keith had first started work with the Blades—back when there was still a Voltron—he’d had to go through memory training before he was trusted out on a mission. He’d had to learn how to map spaces in his mind, remember faces and be able to pick one out of a crowd, and trace back through his memory to recall events no matter how mundane at the time.

So, what was the link? What was the seemingly mundane thing that linked all of these problems together. Keith tallied up four incidents since his assignment on Atlas began: the original attack, the breach of his message to Krolia, him getting chucked out of the system, and this second attack now. If he could just remember what happened around each of those, he was sure it would all come together.

He started with the first attack. They had been in open space the day of the attack—Keith remembered the horrifying feeling of floating in a sea of distant stars when the gravity failed. He’d been talking to Shiro—their first _real_ talk in five years—and before that they’d had their blow up in the break room just outside navigation. 

Keith rubbed his temples. _What else? What else happened?_

They’d talked about the Separatists in navigation—Keith had told Shiro and Lieutenant Somby about which Separatists cells were active and which were not. Maybe there was a mole on Atlas, and they’d been in navigation that day. Maybe the first attack had been an attempt to scare Keith into being quiet.

It certainly was plausible, but he hadn’t been anywhere near navigation during the day he’d sent Krolia the message—or really anyone but Pidge and Matt and Lance and Hunk and Shiro—and he might’ve encountered the mole just around the ship before he was kicked out of the system, but he hasn’t talked about the Separatists near Atlas crew members at all since the attack. So he wasn’t sure why anyone would decide to kick him out of the system _then_. He had to have done something the day before at the Altean New Year party. 

All he’d done there was talk to friends, make a big mistake with Shiro, and then go back to his bed guilty and with blue balls. 

_It doesn’t make any sense. Why isn’t it coming together?_

A voice on the bridge pulled him out of his thoughts. “Auxiliary power cannot power the whole ship. We need to shut down at least one deck to conserve power for life support.”

“Evacuate the gamma deck,” Veronica ordered, “move everyone up to beta deck for now. And someone go get Shiro up—we need him.”

_Shiro_. He’d seen Shiro around the time of each of the incidents—including this most recent one. Each incident came shortly on the heels of a time they’d fought, or they’d hurt each other. 

A snippet of a conversation wormed its way from the back of Keith’s memory to the surface. 

_What does Atlas think of me?_

_She’s worried about the effect you have on me. She’s very protective of me._

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith said. Keith felt every muscle in his body tense up as the realization hit him. “There’s no mole.”

“What?” Krolia looked concerned. Keith could only imagine what his face looked like in that moment, and he doubted that it was convincing. 

“There’s no mole,” Keith repeated. Veronica and Pidge turned to him now, both with confused expressions. Keith felt like he was moving through molasses—everything was too slow. He needed to make them understand, he needed to get to Shiro, he needed to ...

“Then how do you explain the—“ Veronica started. 

“Atlas did it,” Keith said. There wasn’t time to let her finish her question. He turned to Krolia and said, “You were right—I was the target of the attacks. But it wasn’t because my identity was compromised by the Separatists. It’s because Atlas doesn’t like me.”

Pidge frowned. “Atlas doesn’t like you? How the fuck did you end up there?”

Energized by his revelation, Keith’s body hummed with energy. His words came out in a rush. “Shiro told me. She doesn’t like that I fight with him or make him upset. She’s very protective of him.”

“So, how do we make her stop?” Veronica asked.

“I ... well, I don’t know. Maybe I have to go and she’ll stop.”

Pidge shook their head. “The hangar’s shut down to save power. The only way off this ship right now is through the airlock.”

Keith set his mouth into a grim line. “Okay, I’ll need a suit and—”

“The hell you do,” Veronica said, “Before we do any of this, you and your wolf need to go fetch Shiro and see if he can talk the ship down. Then, if he can’t, I’ll be the first to chuck you out the airlock.”

Keith bowed his head, trying to hide the color rising on his cheeks. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. We just ... fought, before I packed up to go.”

“Oh hell,” Pidge said as they rolled their eyes, “You two are hopeless. Kosmo, let’s go get Shiro.”

Keith’s wolf disappeared from Keith’s side and reappeared next to Pidge. The two of them then blinked out from the bridge in a flash of blue. 

“You really think all of this is because you hurt Shiro?” Krolia asked, gesturing to the flashing lights on the screens in front of them.

“I know it seems like a stretch, but it’s the only thing that I can see that links all of the incidents together,” Keith said, “The timing doesn’t line up perfectly, but it does fit.”

Krolia crossed her arms. “If you’re right, then the coalition has a lot more to worry about than Separatists. There are five more Atlas-class ships being built right now. Are we about to launch a fleet of ships capable of singling out people they don’t like and hurting their crew?”

An alarm sounded from one of the computers on the other side of the bridge. “The water recycling system just shut down. We’re in danger of water contamination.”

“Tell everyone to stop using the restrooms for now,” Veronica ordered, “We’re all going to have to hold it until this problem is resolved.” A few officers on the bridge fidgeteda in their seats like they suddenly realized just how long it had been since their last bathroom break. 

Keith watched the ticks pass on a nearby digital clock. How long did Pidge need to get Shiro? Couldn’t they just grab him and bring him to the bridge? He can be filled in when they get here.

As if summoned by Keith’s thoughts, Pidge reappeared in front of him, out of breath and without Shiro. 

“Shiro’s out cold,” Pidge said, “And he’s glowing.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter after this one and an epilogue ;)

Keith chewed on his nails as Matt connected electrodes to Shiro’s head and torso. The last time Shiro had been in the laserproof box, he’d been awake and smiling. Now, the only sign that he was alive was the minute rises and falls of his chest. 

Matt attached wires to all of the contact points on Shiro’s body and then attached those wires to half a dozen machines outside of the containment box. Pidge put a walkie-talkie in Keith’s hand—the partner to the one in the box rigged up to automatically send out a signal if there wasn’t one coming in. 

After conferring while they moved Shiro from his room to the room they’d run security tests in, Pidge’d come to the conclusion that Atlas had talked to Keith through Shiro during the attacks. They figured that the blue glow and metallic sounding voice had to be signs of Atlas possessing Shiro. And maybe, since Shiro’s eyes still leaked blue light from under his eyelids, Atlas might still be in Shiro.

So, Pidge reasoned, they could just _talk_ to Atlas.

There were a lot of things about this plan that had a definite chance of going sideways. What if Atlas didn’t respond to Keith? What if Atlas decided to take down the whole ship if she didn’t like the way the conversation was going? Or shut off the oxygen or open all the airlock or—

“We’re all set,” Matt said, “Keith, you can go whenever you’re ready.”

Krolia put a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You can do this,” she said, “Just be honest.”

Pidge clicked on a different walkie-talkie from their position on the other side of the room, the farthest away from the containment box—just in case. “Veronica, we’re about to start. Let us know if anything goes wrong, or I guess, more wrong.”

Krolia stepped back as Keith closed his eyes. He tuned out Pidge and whatever Veronica said in reply. He thought about how it felt to connect with Red and with Black. He pushed his consciousness out of his mind and he could feel Atlas just beyond his reach. She was enormous, a consciousness a hundred times as large as a Lion’s, and a hundred times more volatile. She shifted and moved and stretched—so different from the calm and steady presence of the Lions. 

Keith focused on Atlas’ push and pull—focused harder than he ever had in his life—and found his opening.

_Atlas_ , he thought has his mind brushed hers, _Please talk to me_.

The ground churned under his feet, but he did not move. He couldn’t show her any weakness. 

_Atlas,_ Keith pleaded, _We need to talk_.

Atlas probed at the corners of Keith’s mind and Keith breathed in and out, long and deep. He let her explore, to test Keith’s resolve. Keith could be patient.

“Why?” Shiro said. 

Keith’s eyes popped open and Shiro was no longer slumped over in his chair. He stood unnaturally still and looked out of the containment box to Keith, his eyes a soft blue.

Keith pressed the button his walkie-talkie _._ “We need you to stop. You’re hurting the crew. You’re hurting Shiro.”

“You’re wrong.” Shiro’s voice had that metallic quality again, and his lips didn’t seem to quite line up with the words coming out. “You hurt Shiro. He loves you. He’s loved you as long as I have known him. But you hurt him. I won’t let you hurt him anymore.”

The ship lurched, and Keith caught himself before he fell. 

“How is stranding us out in the middle of space keeping him safe?” Keith asked, “Or taking over his body?”

Atlas shook Shiro’s head—too slow for normal human movement. “I will keep Shiro safe. You need to go. You hurt him.”

A bitter laugh clawed its way out of Keith’s throat. “Hurt _him_? Okay, _sure._ ”

Shiro—Atlas—cocked her head. “So you agree?”

_You’ve got to be fucking kidding me_.

Keith looked around the room—Matt’s and Pidge’s and Krolia’s eyes were all trained on him, watching him carefully. Keith met Krolia’s gaze and she nodded. _Go on_ , she seemed to say, _be honest_.

“You think Shiro’s hurting? I know how he feels, Atlas,” Keith said, his voice thick with emotion, “I told him I loved him and he married someone else. He had feelings for me and married _someone else_. You think you understand _hurt_? I hurt so bad that I cut him out of my life for five years—him and most of my friends.”

“He ...” Atlas hesitated, unsure for the first time, “hurt _you_?”

“Yes,” Keith said with a shrug, “Humans—and Galra and Alteans and like every living sentient being I’ve ever met—we hurt each other all of the time. We don’t mean to. We’re just ... not always honest with each other. And we try to protect ourselves but that can make it worse and ...”

Atlas stopped Keith by raising Shiro’s hand. “This is why he is safe with me. You left him. You hurt him. I won’t leave him. He won’t leave me. He came back to me.”

“He will leave one day,” Keith said and the floor rumbled, “You will probably outlive him many times over. You will have other captains, and they will be just as good if not better than Shiro. It’s not your responsibility to worry about Shiro. He can take care of himself.”

“I protect him,” Atlas protested, “I will keep him from hurting.”

Keith growled in frustration. He wasn’t getting through to Atlas. What could he say that would convince her?

“Not every hurt is a problem,” Keith explained, “He doesn’t need to be protected from everything. People feel a lot of things, and sometimes multiple things at the same time. Disappointment, guilt, shame, sadness, loss—it’s hard but we just have to deal with it. It’s just part of being a person. How we choose to deal with it is important. It tells others the kind of person we are.”

No response from Atlas. Thirty ticks passed as Atlas seemed to consider Keith’s words, Shiro’s body unnaturally frozen in place. Finally, she spoke again, “What kind of person is Shiro?”

“Shiro’s a fighter.” Keith couldn’t stop a grin spreading across his face. “Once he knows what he wants, he doesn’t stop until he gets it. Sometimes, it makes him a stubborn ass who doesn’t care about anyone else’s feelings. But most of the time, it makes him strong and determined and hopeful and resourceful. Shiro’s spent his whole life fighting for what he has. He doesn’t need someone to protect him. He’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know?” The metallic voice had a barely perceptible shake to it.

Keith looked at Krolia again. Her eyes were full of emotion, and Keith wondered if she was thinking about the day she’d left Earth. She’d made her decision to protect Keith, not knowing if she’d ever see him again. She’d had no idea what kind of future her actions would cause, but she’d had faith. She’d best decision in the moment, and hoped for the best outcome.

Keith had thought he’d made the best decision when he left, but he’d never thought about the consequences. He hadn’t thought about what anyone else would feel about his decision—he’d left to protect himself but he ended up hurting a lot of people in the process. How could he fault Shiro for the same line of reasoning? For choosing a man who seemed like stability and comfort after years of turmoil and trauma? 

But now, Keith couldn’t think about protecting himself. He had to think about what would convince Atlas to let Shiro go, to stop hurting the people on the ship. 

“I don’t,” Keith said with a brief lift of his shoulders, “But none of us can know the future. Not even you, Atlas. We just have to take our lives one day at a time. Worrying so much about trying to protect ourselves from the future will just make us miss _now_. We just have to trust the people we love and take care of each other and—“

“Do you love him?”

Keith froze. That was _not_ a question he was expecting from Atlas.

Keith thought of all the Shiros he’d known in his life. The golden boy of the Garrison. The Black Paladin. Haggar’s clone. The captain of Atlas. Shiro had worn so many masks—had lived so many lives already. And Keith hadn’t loved any of those Shiros. 

He’d loved the young man who snuck him out of the Garrison. The leader of Voltron who saw Keith as an equal. The man who trusted the deepest parts of himself to Keith and only Keith. 

Keith thought of their races on hoverbikes on Earth and their ride over the dessert of Tabernas station. Keith thought of Shiro putting antiseptic on his face after fighting Griffin, and Shiro tracing the line of Keith’s scar on his jaw. He thought of Shiro mocking Keith’s scowl in Personnel, of the many many touches of Shiro’s strong hand to Keith’s shoulder, of _patience yields focus_. 

He loved the Shiro who was Keith’s _friend_. His _best_ friend. 

“Yes,” he said, “I love him.”

Krolia smiled at Keith. She touched her forehead to his temple as her hand came up to hold Keith’s. 

“And you’ll take care of him?” Atlas asked.

Keith squeezed Krolia’s hand. “We’ll take care of each other. Me and him, but there are so many other people who love Shiro, too. Our friends, my family—we’ll all take care of each other.”

Atlas sat down in the chair in the containment box, spine ramrod straight and hands on Shiro’s thighs. “I do not trust you, Keith,” she said, “But I trust Shiro. I trust Shiro’s judgment.”

Keith was surprised how easily Atlas could say she trusted Shiro. Keith had spent _so long_ wondering if he could trust Shiro. His mind had been full of questions: could he take Shiro at his word? could he rely on Shiro’s love? would Shiro change his mind later?

But Atlas _knew_ Shiro’s mind. Her words came back to him, _He’s loved you as long as I’ve known him._

And Pidge’s too: _Sometimes you just have to trust someone_.

And then his own speech to Atlas: _Worrying so much about trying to protect ourselves from the future will just make us miss now._

If he held every mistake Shiro’d made against him, he wouldn’t ever see the best parts of Shiro _now_ —his honesty, his vulnerability, his self-awareness, his willingness to change.

If Shiro could change, Keith could, too. 

“You know what?” Keith said, smiling, “I do, too.”

Shiro’s mouth smiled, almost undetectably, “You can stay as long as he wants. I will not interfere.”

And then Atlas was gone. Shiro slumped in his seat and Keith rushed to the containment box. He banged on the clear panel separating them. “Shiro!”

“Pidge! Systems are coming back online,” Veronica said over the walkie-talkie, “We’re switching the engines back on. I don’t know what you did but ...”

Keith didn’t hear the rest of what Veronica had to say because Shiro’s eyes were blinking open and they weren’t glowing anymore. 

“Keith?” Shiro croaked, “You didn’t leave?”

Keith couldn’t contain his smile. “I had to save your ass again,” he said into the walkie-talkie.

Shiro laughed, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But now that there’s been another attack—you still need to go, right?”

Keith’s face fell. Even after all of that, Shiro still wanted him to go. Before Keith could say anything, Krolia stepped up and pulled the walkie-talkie out of Keith’s hand. 

“Keith won’t be leaving anytime soon. He’s going take that job, but he probably has a few more things to say to you”—she gave Keith a pointed look and Keith felt his face heat up—“after you’ve been cleared by Medical.”

Shiro’s smile lost some of its reserved quality. “Talk to you back in my—I mean— _our_ room?”

Keith nodded and Shiro’s smile bloomed like a flower on his face. As soon as Matt unhooked Shiro from the machines and opened the door, Keith was there to scoop him up in a hug, lifting Shiro a few inches off the floor.

“Keith, what happened?” Shiro asked as Keith set him back down, “How did I end up here?”

Keith shook his head. “Way too much to fill you in before Medical gets here,” he said, “But the short version is that Atlas and I have come to an understanding.”

Shiro scratched the back of his head and gave Keith a quizzical look. He opened his mouth, then seemed to reconsider, and closed it again. 

“Medical’s here,” Krolia said, putting a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, “Time to go.”

As the team from Medical loaded Shiro onto a stretcher, Shiro stopped one crew member from buckling him in. “Keith,” Shiro said, “You’ll really still be here when they’re done with me?”

Keith smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter. There is an epilogue after this to tie up some loose ends, but that’s the end of this piece.
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone who’s been with this work since the beginning and everyone who picked it up along the way. I’ve loved reading your comments and interpretations of the fic, and engaging with all of you. 
> 
> Thanks so much!!

“Keith?”

Keith blinked awake to Shiro’s face inches from his. 

“I’m awake,” Keith said, his voice still thick with sleep. He pulled himself up to a half-sitting position, his back resting on the wall. When had he gone to bed?

Shiro chuckled. “Of course you are.”

Shiro sat down next to Keith on Keith’s bed. Keith had really tried to stay awake to wait for Shiro, but the roller coaster of emotion he’d been on all day had taken it out of him. Keith looked down at his watch—nearly midday Atlas time.

“Did you just get released?”

Shiro nodded. “I think I’ve had almost every possible test and scan Medical can do done to me, and they can’t find any thing they didn’t already know about.”

Keith raised an eyebrow and Shiro pointed to his glowing arm. 

“Ah,” Keith said. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to _begin_ to explain everything he’d just been through. And it had been a lot easier to be emotionally honest with Atlas-in-Shiro than just Shiro. 

A silence grew between them, and the longer it went on, the more anxious Keith got. Keith had admitted he loved Shiro—to _Shiro—again_. Well, Shiro’s body. The last time he did that, he’d nearly _died_. And the last time Keith had reminded Shiro of a love confession, it had resulted in Keith leaving on his self-imposed exile for five years. Keith’s confidence waned with each passing moment. Maybe honesty wasn’t such a good idea ...

Then, finally, Shiro spoke. “So, what happened to me?” 

“Atlas ... she sort of took control of your body,” Keith started. He explained as much as he understood to Shiro—that Atlas had some _issues_ with Keith and an overprotective streak a mile long—and filled in the gaps with his best guesses. After talking with Pidge, Keith figured that Atlas taking control of Shiro meant that she didn’t have enough power or focus or whatever to keep the rest of the ship going, and the longer she possessed Shiro, the worse it got for the rest of the ship. But Keith kept his explanation as free of his opinions as possible—he had no idea if Atlas was still listening in and he didn’t want to fuck up their fragile understanding.

As Keith told the story, Shiro listened intently, only interrupting to ask clarifying questions. Once Keith had explained everything he knew, Shiro frowned down at his hands.

“I don’t think I understand,” Shiro said, “Why did Atlas let me go? Why didn’t she just keep a hold on me?”

Adrenaline shot through Keith’s body. Keith could lie and say that he convinced Atlas through logic and reasoning ... as if Shiro was dumb enough to believe that. Or he could say that he didn’t know, and that wasn’t a complete lie. He could guess all day and night at Atlas’ thought process and probably still only come up with an incomplete picture. 

Keith was a terrible liar. But telling Shiro the truth? Putting himself out there again? Even knowing Shiro loved him, it was hard for him to admit his feelings. History wasn’t on his side. 

“Keith,” Shiro sighed, “You’re thinking to hard. Are you trying to come up with a lie?”

_Busted_.

“No,” Keith lied. Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I _was_. Look—when I talked to her—I was very vulnerable in there and I said some _things_. And yes, Pidge and Matt and Krolia heard those things which probably means that the whole ship is going to know soon because Pidge can’t keep their mouth shut and ...”

Shiro took Keith’s hands in his and Keith slammed his mouth closed. “Can we stop lying to each other?” Shiro looked in Keith eyes, and Keith couldn’t look away. Shiro’s warm, brown eyes had always had that power over Keith.

“Okay,” Keith said softly, “I told Atlas that ... I love you.”

Shiro sucked in a breath and his hands gripped Keith’s. “What did you say?”

“I love you,” Keith said, “I’ve always loved you. I will always love you, but— _fuck_ , Shiro—I’m scared of what that means.”

Shiro’s brows furrowed. “You’re ... scared?”

“I’m fucking _terrified_ ,” Keith admitted, “I still have nightmares of your clone trying to kill me, or I’m back at the Garrison and I just _know_ you’re not coming back from Kerberos and ...”

Keith felt the prickle of tears and coughed to cover up the sudden influx of emotion.

“I’ve lost you over and over again, Shiro. It was hard enough when I lost you to space aliens and magic, but at least I could find you again, at least I could try to save you. When I lost you because of choices _you_ made, there wasn’t some big evil to fight—there was just _you_. 

“I told Atlas that you can’t know what choice someone’s going to make and you can’t make it for them. I told her that you can’t know the future, but I can’t _be_ with you if I’m always wondering if you’re going to change your mind. How do I know you won’t wake up tomorrow and decide you don’t love me anymore?”

“You don’t,” Shiro said, “but ...”

Shiro loosened his grip on Keith’s hands and lightly touched his fingertips to Keith’s palms. He traced the hills and valleys of Keith’s hands as he seemed to work himself up to something, mimicking Keith’s gesture from the night before.

“I’ve never been any good at relationships,” Shiro said with a sigh, “With Adam, with Curtis ... I always wanted things _my_ way, on _my_ terms. _I_ was first and the relationship was second.”

“Yeah, but Adam wanted you to give up your dream,” Keith protested, “And Curtis—“

Shiro stopped Keith with a shake of his head. “It’s not their fault. It’s not fair to blame them. Adam was concerned about my health and Curtis wanted a family with me. There’s nothing wrong with either of those things. I just didn’t care about they wanted. I thought if we loved each other enough, the relationship would just _work_ even though we definitely weren’t on the same page.”

Shiro pulled back his hands and laced them together in his lap. “I did the same thing with you, Keith. After Allura put my consciousness in the clone’s body, I knew how you felt but I didn’t want to face it. I wanted us to be _friends_ , and I was going to do everything I could to keep it that way. It was easier than admitting to myself that I loved you—and that my feelings had been growing and evolving for quite some time. 

“I think ... I understand how Atlas felt. She wanted our relationship, hers and mine, to be a certain way and she convinced herself what she wanted was best for both of us. I did that too—with Adam, with Curtis ... with _you_.”

Keith’s heart pounded loudly in his ears, Shiro’s words barely audible over the drum. 

“I don’t know what will happen in the future,” Shiro admitted, looking down at his hands, “But I _do_ know that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since you left. I feel like you’re the only person who has ever known me— _really_ known me. You’ve always believed in me, and I want to be the man worthy of that belief.”

Shiro looked up, his eyes locking with Keith’s. “I’m not going anywhere,” Shiro said, “I’m not interested in anyone else. It’s only you, Keith.”

Keith looked away and swallowed, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. It was too much. Too _too_ much. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith said, “I’m a little ... overwhelmed.”

Keith began to shake, his fingertips trembling with a tremor that moved its way up his arms to his chest. He shivered and Shiro eyed him warily.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m ... It’s just a lot and ... you don’t know _how long_ I’ve wanted you to say that,” Keith said.

Shiro frowned. “Say that I’m bad at relationships?”

Keith shook his head, the only shaking he could control. “ _No_ ,” he said, “That you’re not interested in anyone else. That you want _me_ —just me.”

Shiro rubbed his hands up and down Keith’s arms, softly smiling. “You saved me, Keith, over and over again. You loved me through some of the worst moments in my life. If it wasn't for you, my life would have been a lot different.”

Keith smiled at the reminder of his words said so many years before.

“No one has been as important to my life as you,” Shiro continued, “You’re my guiding light—you’re a _star_ and I’ve always felt lucky to be in your orbit. Sorry it took me so long to realize it.”

Keith laughed. It started as a giggle but morphed into a full body thing, with his unshed tears finally falling as he doubled over. He felt lighter the longer it went on, like all of the stress and worry and anxiety was leaving his body.

There was something about hearing Keith’s thoughts about stars and gravity and relationships repeated back to him that made everything click into place. 

Things would work out. 

Because Shiro and Keith thought the same way—came up with the same silly metaphors about stars and orbits. And Shiro and Keith felt the same way—felt the strength of that inexorable pull that tethered them together, as constant and reliable as gravity. Except, it was natural law and it wasn’t chemistry. It was a decision—one that they made over and over and kept making—to care about each other. 

Shiro put a hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Keith, are you okay?” Shiro asked, raising his voice to be heard over the peals of Keith’s laughter.

Keith’s laughter finally died down. He looked up at Shiro and wiped the tears off his face. “I love you,” Keith said, startling Shiro, “And I want to be with you.”

Shiro pulled Keith to his chest, crushing him in a desperate embrace. “I love you, too,” he whispered into Keith’s hair. He kissed the top of Keith’s head and said again, “I love you so much.”

Keith pushed himself out of Shiro’s hug and pulled Shiro down until they were both laying on the bed, Shiro’s head resting on Keith’s shoulder. Keith ran his fingers over the short hairs at Shiro’s neck and Shiro hummed in appreciation. 

“I have an important question,” Keith said. 

Shiro craned his head to look at Keith. “Oh?”

“So, since we’re going to be together now, should I call you Takashi?” Keith asked, his nose scrunching up. 

“No no no,” Shiro said, laughing as he moved his head back to its resting position, “You’ve always called me Shiro. _Takashi_ sounds weird coming from you.”

“Okay _Shiro_ ,” Keith said softly as his hand moved from the nape of Shiro’s neck to his shoulders, tracing the lines of muscle and bone. Keith reveled in touching Shiro, feeling the warmth of his body and the softness of his skin. Shiro snuggled closed to Keith, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Keith’s shoulder, and sighed happily.

Keith felt ... content. It was a feeling he hadn’t had much experience with. But here, with Shiro starting to doze in his arms, he could admit to himself that this was _happiness_. This was _promise_. After years of struggling, he’d thought that this moment—if it was ever going to come—would feel like the end of something. But it felt like the beginning. 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated 4/7 to fix formatting issues.

Posted along one long stone wall, Keith watched the wait staff carry the last remaining dishes out of the great dining hall in the Eu palace. The final dinner on Joraq was almost over, and by all measures, a rousing success. The Eu royal family—the two kings, the queen, and their seven adolescent children—said only three snide remarks between them about the Yorans, and the Yoran President only made fun of the Eu queen’s enormous headpiece once and not in her earshot. 

Given the animosity between the two largest nations of Joraq just four phoebs before, it was almost a miracle.

That ... or a carefully planned and well-executed charm offensive from three of the largest players in the Galactic Coalition. But knowing how petty both the Eu and Yorans could be, a miracle wasn’t completely out of the question. It was clear almost from the moment Atlas landed, that the Eu decided to side with the Separatists purely to spite the Yorans, who had begun negotiations with the Coalition without consulting the Eu.

_Ah yes_ , Keith thought when he found out the Eu’s reasoning, _Making decisions out of hurt feelings and spite. That’s usually_ my _play_.

But four phoebs of Allura and Lance and Alfora charming the Eu royal family, and Hunk and Krolia convincing the Yoran Parliament to issue a formal apology, had been worth it to get to this final dinner. 

Well, Keith did his best to convince himself it had been worth it, as he watched the Yoran president’s daughter pull Shiro into _another_ dance. It’s not that Keith thought that Shiro would get up to anything with the woman—Shiro’d told Keith recently while they were in laying in bed together that he pretty much exclusively liked men, though meeting all sorts of aliens will all different concepts of gender made pinning down his sexuality harder and harder. It was that Keith could remember being in Shiro’s arms and now it was something he craved. 

_Fuck that’s sappy_.

Fortunately, Hunk showed up just in time to stop Keith from getting any sappier. “I don’t think you have to stand here all night,” Hunk said, “Between Atlas’ security officers and all of the extra security provided by the Eu, I don’t think we’re in danger here.”

Keith narrowed his eyes. “I’m not taking any chances after what happened the last time we were in the Palace.” 

Two phoebs ago, they’d had their first joint meeting between the Eu and the Yorans—and the Separatists had tried to collapse the tunnels that lead through the underground palace to their meeting room. Keith had caught the Separatist who set the charges, but only because said Separatist ran into Keith as he was leaving an alcove with Shiro.

Keith still felt a little guilty about that. Even if he probably wouldn’t have caught the guy if he’d stayed at his post, instead of making out with Shiro.

“Suit yourself,” Hunk said with a shrug. He produced two plates with a dessert that looked like a purple pie crust filled with light yellow berries. “More for me, then.”

Hunk left Keith and walked over to the Holts, who were both trying to solve mechanical puzzles one of the Eu princes or princesses had brought them. Pidge had a look of concentration on their face and they turned dials and shook their puzzle, while Matt looked more determined to solve his to impress Allura’s attendant Sena—he kept showing her the parts he’d already solved and she looked suitably dazzled.

Pidge caught Keith looking at them and give him a beckoning wave. He shook his head and pointed to his uniform, trying to convey that he was on duty. Pidge rolled their eyes and went back to their puzzle, giving up on Keith. 

Keith had been surprised when the Holt siblings stayed on Atlas after the whole attack mystery had been solved. But they decided to use Atlas as a sort of testing ground. The Coalition had five more Atlas-class ships in the works, and if they were all going to be sentient like Atlas, they needed to figure out an emotional outlet for the ship. 

Pidge called in engineers from the Hub, and Allura brought a few Alteans with ancestral magic capabilities, adding to Atlas’ ranks a kind of ship therapy team. Atlas bonded quickly with one engineer and one Altean—according to Shiro—and they convinced her to let Veronica launch the ship twice while everyone was on Joraq. It was still a work in progress, but much better than before. If Keith hadn’t already seen the power of talking with people honestly about feelings, he might’ve been converted by Atlas’ new attitude. 

Plus, she’d only closed a door once on Keith since their conversation, and Keith counted that as a win. 

Keith watched the new Yoran ambassador to the Eu, a giant of a man even among the people of Joraq, lean over to talk to Krolia. She had on a bland smile, polite but clearly disinterested, as the ambassador laughed at his own joke. The ambassadorships had been Krolia’s idea—a way to maintain the new peace between the two nations—and she was obviously regretting that decision. 

Her eyes drifted away from the ambassador, caught up in his own amusement, and found Keith’s. She excused herself and made her way across the hall to Keith’s post.

“There’s really no need for you to be posted up here,” she said by way of greeting, “We have plenty of security.”

Keith sighed. “Hunk already beat you to that argument.”

Krolia raised her eyebrows and Keith felt a little sheepish. He colored as he said, “I’m not hiding from anyone or avoiding anything—I promise. We’re just _so_ close to the end of all of this, and I don’t want to anything to go wrong.”

Krolia looped an arm over Keith’s shoulders and looked out over the gathered crowd. “Keith, I think _this_ is the end of all of this. The paperwork is signed, the Separatists are scrambling—there’s not anything left to go wrong.”

Keith scanned the room too: a few Eu huddle around the Yoran President, the President’s daughter pulled one of the Eu princesses out onto the dance floor, and Lance and a handful of Eu laughed at Hunk’s joke.

“But if there’s some _other_ reason, I’m here for you,” she said, “I know things are ... _better_ between you and Shiro—“

Keith pulled himself out from under his mother’s arm. “ _Fuck_ , Mom, I do not want to have this conversation—“

“But,” she continued, talking over Keith, “I want to let you know that you still have the option of spending some time with me. After this mission, Atlas will probably be docked at the Hub for several phoebs, and you could take that time to come back to New Daibazaal. If you want.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Keith said, “I really do. But I already have plans.”

Krolia narrowed her eyes. “Not work, I hope.”

Keith shook his head. “No, Kolivan approved a nice long vacation for me and I’m not going to spend it running errands out of your office on New Daibazaal.”

Krolia gave Keith a soft smile. “Good.”

Her arm found its way back over Keith’s shoulders. “I love you, Keith, and I just want you to be happy.”

Keith smiled and brought up a hand to squeeze hers. “I love you, too. And I am happy.”

Krolia stayed for a few doboshes, just standing with Keith and watching the party, until the Yoran ambassador found her again and she, very unfortunately, had to take an important call right that moment. 

But Keith wasn’t alone for very long. Coran stopped by next and dropped Alfora into Keith’s arms. Alfora had taking a liking to Keith—to everyone’s surprise—and Keith didn’t mind indulging her from time to time. She was especially fond of Keith’s braid, and weaving all sorts of toys and trinkets into it. 

Allura eventually came to scoop her up, with a sheepish-looking Lance at her heels. Just behind Lance was Melar, looking as cool and carefree as ever.

“Hey, I’m sorry about the festival,” Keith said after Lance and Allura left them alone, “It wasn’t very nice of me to just run off on you.”

Melar shook his head. “Lance explained things to me after. I just wish I’d known going in that I was supposed to be some kind of rebound.”

“Me too,” Keith said with a chuckle.

Melar laughed, more subdued than his full-body I’m-trying-to-impress-my-date laugh. His laughter trailed off into a soft smile. “I did have a good time with you though. If you need someone to talk to who isn’t in the same friend group as your boyfriend, just hit me up,” he said, holding out his hand.

Keith shook it once and let it go. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Melar stepped back to go, but before he could turn around, Keith said, “And if they let you pilot the new Altean transports, I’m dying to know if how the new controls handle.”

Melar’s smile widened. “Of course,” he said, “I’ll keep in touch.”

As soon as Melar was out of earshot, a voice said from behind Keith, “Aww, Keith you made a friend.”

Keith rolled his eyes and turned around to see Acxa. She was dressed in her Marmora armor too, but she clearly was no longer at her post. “I have _friends,_ ” Keith said.

“I’ve worked with you for decaphoebs and this is the first time I’ve seen you make plans to talk with someone later that wasn’t part of a mission,” she said, arching an eyebrow.

Keith felt his cheeks heat up from shame, but Acxa spoke again before he could defend himself. “I’m glad, you know,” she said, “I think it’s good for you. You’re not so closed off.”

And then Keith’s cheeks were warm for a completely different reason. He had to change the subject.

“So, are you still coming back with us to the Hub?” Keith asked.

Acxa nodded. “I’ll be stationed there until they get the other Atlas-class ships launched. And Kolivan just told me I’ll have your job on one of those ships.”

“Stability,” Keith noted, “That’s what you wanted.”

Acxa smiled, wider than Keith ever remembered her smiling before. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Do you know which ship?” Keith asked.

Acxa blushed—a rare occurrence for her. “If everything goes according to plan, the IGF-Themis.”

_Ah_ , Keith thought, _Veronica’s new ship_. 

Acxa cleared her throat—her turn to change the subject. “How’s therapy going?”

Keith blinked at her, surprised by the question. It wasn’t a secret that he—he _and_ Shiro—were talking to someone. Atlas’d had to take a short detour to pick up the therapist on the way to Joraq, and no one on board was capable of keeping a secret anyway. No, Keith was surprised that Acxa was, in essence, asking about Keith’s _feelings_. 

“Going well,” Keith said, “It’s ... helping.” 

“I’m glad,” Acxa said with a smile. 

And it was helping, but that didn’t mean it had been easy. Neither Keith nor Shiro had ever been any good at talking about how they felt, and prying the deepest, darkest feelings out of them had been _challenging_. But now, Keith could spot a panic attack as it was starting, and he had fewer flashbacks of the clone facility or the first Atlas possession. 

Shiro ... it would probably take a long time and a lot more talking for him to completely come to terms with everything that had happened to him. Atlas’ possession, and especially the last one, had pulled up all of his worst memories from the clone and when he was part of Black’s consciousness and his time in Galran captivity. Shiro’s mind and body had been violated over and over, and after hearing him talk about it, even Keith thought he might’ve picked Curtis, given the choice. 

But most of their problems as a couple manifested in the physical. Kissing was amazing, and Keith _loved_ that he could finally touch Shiro as much as he wanted. But as much as Keith tried, he couldn’t always push down the recollection of violence between them or the fear it stirred in his gut. There were working on it, but it was slow going. 

Despite all of that, Keith didn’t worry anymore that Shiro’s feelings were going to change. Shiro was _committed_ and he showed it to Keith every day. There were moments in the day when he would be working and he would forget that Shiro loved him, and then Shiro would remind him with a visit or a quick message. It was all very new to Keith. 

After a few minutes of silently watching the party, Shiro finally approached Keith’s position on the wall. Acxa excused herself, with a _fucking_ _smirk_ , leaving Keith and Shiro alone for the first time in a few days.

Shiro touched Keith’s shoulder, and let his hand glide down over Keith’s shoulder blade to the dip of his waist. There was a gentleness to Shiro’s touch, as if he was trying to slowly replace every memory of his body attacking Keith with tender caresses. Keith shivered as Shiro’s hand traced abstract shapes on the small of his back.

“I’m sure you’ve already heard this,” Shiro said, “but you know you can just enjoy the party.” Shiro pushed Keith’s braid off his neck and Shiro’s exhale ghosted over Keith’s newly exposed skin. Keith shivered.

And rolled his eyes.

“I’m working—“

“No you just don’t want to dance.”

Keith glared at Shiro. “That is _not_ the point.”

Shiro smiled triumphantly. “Don’t worry. I won’t make you dance— _here_.”

Keith gave Shiro a pained look. “Here?”

“When we’re on our vacation, and it’s just us, I might want to dance with you,” Shiro said as he tugged lightly on Keith’s braid.

“Okay, maybe,” Keith conceded. It was a long vacation—there was always a chance Shiro would forget about this conversation. 

They watched the room together, dancers swirling by to the beat of a orchestra made of long stringed instruments—just _being_ together. After phoebs of tense conversations and general anxiety, it was nice to have moments like this, where they could just enjoy being near each other. 

“Hey,” Shiro said, and Keith turned to look at him. There was something a little wild in Shiro’s eyes as he whispered, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Now?” Keith asked, “I’m technically still on duty for three more vargas.”

“Everyone knows that this is over,” Shiro said, “No one will miss either of us. Allura and Hunk have all the wrapping up taken care of. We’ll just get in the way.”

Keith bit his lip. And then he nodded.

Shiro took Keith’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze before pulling him out of the hall. He led Keith through the winding passages of the palace cave toward the hangar. The hangar—like the rest of the Eu palace—made the most of the naturally occurring rock formations in the capital city. It was clearly not purpose-built, but instead took advantage of the wide opening of cave network. It would never fit a ship like Atlas, but it was plenty large for half a dozen transport and cargo ships. 

And one of those ships was _Keith’s_ —though maybe a little cleaner than he last remembered seeing it. Keith stopped in his tracks.

Shiro turned back to look at him. “What’s the problem?”

“I thought you meant ‘get out of here’ like ‘ _get out of here’_ ,” Keith said, face heating up at the implication, “I didn’t think you literally meant ‘get out of _here’._ ”

Shiro chuckled. “Atlas has given Veronica permission to take her to the Hub. There’s no reason we can’t start our vacation a few phoebs early.”

Keith opened his mouth to protest, but then reconsidered. If the talks really were done, and both the Eu and Yorans approved Joraq joining the coalition, then Keith’s job as Hunk’s bodyguard was over. And that meant—technically—he was already on vacation.

Keith’s frown turned into a smile. “I’ve never had a vacation,” he said.

“I know,” Shiro said, “I really haven’t either. I don’t think a handful of off days with the Garrison or Voltron or the Coalition really count.”

Keith shook his head in agreement. His days off with the Blades had been few and far between, and mostly spent bumming around the Blades offices on the Hub. And on Atlas, there was never an escape from the constant scrutiny of the other crew members, or he now supposed, the watchful eyes of the ship herself.

Keith finally moved, closing the distance to his ship. It definitely was cleaner, and a few of the exterior panels had been replaced. This wasn’t usual Atlas maintenance—it had to have been Shiro.

Keith narrowed his eyes as he turned over his shoulder to look at Shiro. “What did you do to my ship?”

“Oh, so it’s _your_ ship now,” Shiro said, approaching Keith, “I thought it was just the ship the Blades let you—“

Keith’s hand came up cover Shiro’s mouth, before his words could be repeated back to him. Shiro smiled—Keith could feel the movement under his hand—and then gently lowered Keith’s hand from his face.

“I’ve had a lot of time off lately,” Shiro explained, “And _your_ ship obviously needed some attention before we flew around the galaxy in it.”

Shiro looked at the ground, but Keith caught a glimpse of pink on his cheeks. “And,” he hesitated, his eyes trained on Keith’s shoes, “I keep thinking about what you said to me—about how you wanted me to show you I love you. At first I was kind of mad, and not just because you said it right after the whole ... New Year _thing_.”

Guilt coiled in Keith’s gut. If he never had to remember that night again, it would be too soon. 

Shiro’s eyes turned up to find Keith’s. “I was really mad actually,” he said, “Because I thought you were asking me to _prove it_. And that was just not fair or right to ask of someone. But I think I get it now.”

“You do?” Shiro’d surprised Keith. Keith didn’t think _he_ really knew what he had asked for that night. 

“Yeah,” Shiro said, “You’re a person who cares a lot about _actions_. You know something is real if you see it—if you _experience_ it.”

Keith felt a jolt like a bolt of lightning. It felt true, but the kind of truth he’d never realized about himself. How many times had he wondered if he could trust the words of his friends? Of Shiro? Of _anyone_? 

“You’re the kind of person who shows that he cares,” Shiro continued, “You fight for people, you take care of them, you put yourself in danger, you put yourself in uncomfortable positions, and you _save lives—_ you’ve saved _my_ life. But I think you do this—you _love_ like this—because that’s the kind of love you want, too.”

He’d never felt so laid bare. He was shocked that he didn’t feel exposed, but rather, _understood_. 

Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro. Fittingly, he didn’t have the words for what he felt, so he let his actions speak for him.

“I mean,” Shiro said, talking into Keith’s shoulder, “This is obviously something we’ll need to keep talking about, because it’s also what makes you self-destructive and self-sacrificing and tend toward isolating yourself but ...”

“Hey Shiro,” Keith interrupted, “Thanks for fixing up my ship— _our_ ship.”

Keith pulled back to see a surprisingly emotional Shiro, his eyes starting to get that glassy, about to cry look. “Keith ...” he said.

“Let’s get out of here,” Keith said, “We’ve got a lot of galaxy to see.”

Shiro pulled him onto the ship, and for the first time, it felt like home. 


End file.
